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It took but a few moments to carry the injured youth to camp, and not until Rod was resting upon a pile of blankets in their shack, with the warmth of the fire reviving him, did Wabi vouchsafe an explanation to the old Indian. "I guess he's got a broken arm, Muky," he said. "Have you any hot water?" "Shot?" asked the old hunter, paying no attention to the question.
The young Indian looked at his compass by the light of a match. "We'll strike straight across Lake Nipigon instead of following the shore. What do you say, Muky?" he called back. The old pathfinder was silent. In surprise Wabi ceased paddling, and repeated his question. "Don't you think it is safe?" Mukoki wet his hand over the side and held it above his head. "Wind in south," he said.
"Muky isn't afraid of bullets, either gold or lead; he isn't afraid of any danger on earth. But that cry haunts him. He is trying not to let us know, yet it haunts him just the same. Do you know what he is thinking? No? Well, I do!
In an instant the swift current of the little stream caught the birch bark and carried it along with remarkable speed. After several futile strokes of his paddle Wabi settled back upon his heels. "It's all up to you, Muky," he called softly. "I can't do a thing from the bow. The current is too swift. All you can do is to keep her nose straight."
He drew away from the fire, wrapped himself in a blanket, and crept into the shelter that Rod and Wabigoon had built. The two boys looked at each other in silence. "Muky has certainly had some most extraordinary adventure," said Wabi at last. "I have never seen him like this before. It is easy to guess the meaning of the shot.
Then he crouched, advancing foot by foot, yard by yard, so slowly that he seemed to be on his hands and knees. "He can hear them, but he can't see them!" breathed Wabigoon. "See! He places his ear to the ground! Now he has got his bearings again as straight as a die! Good old Muky!" The old Indian crept on. In his excitement Rod clenched his hands and he seemed to live without breathing.
Both Mukoki and Wabigoon had slipped the leashes that had long restrained them from meting first vengeance upon their enemies. Now the opportunity had come. For five minutes the great pine blazed, and then died away until it was only a smoldering tower of light. Still Mukoki gazed, speechless and grim, out into the distance of the night. At last Wabi broke the silence. "How far away is it, Muky?"
"Making big fun!" chuckled Mukoki, drawing the boy closer to the rock that concealed them. Wabi had thrust a finger in his mouth and now held it above his head, the Indian's truest guide for discovering the direction of the wind. The lee side of his finger remained cold and damp, while that side upon which the breeze fell was quickly dried. "The wind is toward us, Muky," he announced.
"That's it, Muky he's gone bad dog, just like that husky of ours who went bad because he swallowed a fish bone. White men sometimes go bad dog when they are thirsty and starving!" "Our Great Spirit tells us that we must never harm them," added Rod. "We put them in big houses, larger than all of the houses at the Post together, and feed them and clothe them and care for them all their lives.
Wabigoon stood panting and dripping wet, and in the moonlight his face was as white as the tub-like spot of foam out in the center of the maelstrom. "That's what you call going to kingdomcome and getting out again!" he gasped. "Muky, that was the closest shave we've ever had! It has your avalanche beaten to a frazzle!"
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