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Updated: May 20, 2025
It was not the light of the game hunt in Mukoki's eyes now; there was a trembling, terrible tenseness in his whispered words. He crept up the hill with Rod so near that he could have touched him. At the summit of that hill he dragged himself up like an animal, and then, crouching, ran swiftly to the opposite side, his rifle within six inches of his shoulder.
The remaining arm had fallen close to the skeleton's side, and it was on this side that Mukoki's critical eyes searched most carefully, his curiosity being almost immediately satisfied by the discovery of a short, slant-wise cut in one of the ribs. "This un die here!" he explained. "Git um stuck knife in ribs. Bad way die! Much hurt no die quick, sometime. Ver' bad way git stuck!"
Eagerly he scooped up a fresh pan of the precious earth. He heard the swish-swish of the water in Wabigoon's and Mukoki's pans. But beyond this there were no sounds made by them. In these first minutes of treasure seeking no words were spoken. Who would give the first shout of discovery? Five minutes, ten, fifteen of them passed, and Rod found no gold.
Father Roland came from the room early in the evening, after playing his violin. He locked the door, and as he put on his cap he said: "I shall be gone for an hour, David. I am going over to Mukoki's cabin." He did not ask David to accompany him, and as he turned to go the key that he had held in his hand dropped to the floor. It fell with a quite audible sound.
In the midst of their play the animals in the open stood for a single instant paralyzed by a knowledge of impending danger, and in that instant there came to the young hunters the report of Mukoki's rifle. "No good!" cried Wabi. In his excitement he leaped to his feet. The caribou had turned and the whole eight of them were racing across the open.
And Rod, glancing toward the driftwood, saw something else, something toward which he pointed, speechless, white with that same strange excitement that had taken possession of Wabigoon! The others followed Rod's arm. Behind him he heard the gentle click of Wabigoon's revolver and the sharp, vicious snap of the safety on Mukoki's rifle.
"I'm not sure, not quite sure, yet," went on the Indian youth. "But listen! It is a legend in Mukoki's tribe, and always has been, that once in every so many generations they are visited by a terrible warrior sent by the Great Spirit who takes sacrifice of them, a sacrifice of human life, because of a great wrong that was once done by their people.
Rod quickly perceived that three shots had taken effect; one, which was undoubtedly Mukoki's carefully directed ball, in a vital spot behind the fore leg, and two through the body.
I have heard those screams before in the Eloise insane asylum, near Detroit. He's " The words were frozen on his lips. Again the cry echoed up the chasm. It was nearer this time, and with a sobbing, terrified sound, something that Wabi had never heard fall from Mukoki's lips before, the old warrior clung to Roderick's arm.
Meanwhile Rod concealed himself behind a rock, from which vantage-point he could see the whole of that part of the valley across which they had come. He looked at his watch and in tense anxiety counted every minute after that. He allowed ten minutes for the dressing of Mukoki's wound. Every second gained from then on would be priceless.
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