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Updated: September 9, 2025
His wild blood leaped again at the thought of the strife, of the desperate race that he and Roderick had run over the mountain to the burning cabin, and of their rescue of Wabigoon. Suddenly his eyes caught the white gleam of something half a hundred paces away, and he rose and walked toward it, grunting and chuckling in half-savage pleasure.
For a long time he had been secretly puzzled, and had evolved certain ideas of his own because of the movements of the Woongas. Contrary to the opinions of Mukoki and Wabigoon, he believed that the red outlaws were perfectly conscious of their presence in the dip. From the first their actions had been unaccountable, but not once had one of their snow-shoe trails crossed their trap-lines.
Of that he was certain. And why would not the Woongas penetrate beyond this mountain? He had asked himself this question a score of times during the last twenty-four hours, in spite of the fact that both Mukoki and Wabigoon were quite satisfied that they were well out of the Woonga territory. It was growing dusk when Wabi and the old Indian returned with the meat of the caribou.
While the courier unpacked his provisions, Mukoki and Wabigoon assembled the teams and proceeded to select three of the best of their own animals to put in harness with those of the Hudson Bay mail.
Are you afraid of a bad dog, Muky, or of a man who has gone bad dog?" "Bad dog bite deep mebby so we kill heem!" "But we don't kill them until we have to," persisted the quick-witted Wabigoon, who saw the way in which Rod's efforts were being directed. "Didn't we save our husky by taking the fish bone out of his throat? We must save this bad dog, because he is a white man, like Rod.
His first sense of life was that something very heavy was upon his stomach, and that he was being rubbed, and pummeled, and rolled about as if he had become the plaything of a great bear. Then he saw Mukoki, and then Wabigoon. "You go build fire," he heard Mukoki say, and he could hear Wabi running swiftly shoreward. For he knew that they were still upon the ice.
Ball's work: nuggets, 6 pounds, 4 ounces; dust, 2 pounds, 3 ounces. Total, 27 pounds. Plante's share, 6 pounds, 12 ounces. Langlois' share, 6 pounds, 12 ounces. Ball's share, 13 pounds, 8 ounces. Division made." Softly Wabigoon read the words aloud.
The strange, wistful light that had replaced the glare in the old man's eyes when he heard his own name called to him had spoken more than words. It was John Ball! And he was dead! For a third time, a fourth, and a fifth Mukoki and Wabigoon came up for air, and the fifth time they dragged themselves out upon the rocks that edged the pool.
"You are one of us," cried Wabi, gripping his hand. That evening, after they had finished their supper and the three were gathered about the fire, Wabigoon said: "Muky could tell you one reason why the Indians of the North are honest if he wanted to, Rod. But he won't, so I will.
The gold meant everything to Rod, the realization of his hopes and ambitions; and he knew that it meant everything to his mother, and to all those who belonged to Mukoki and Wabigoon. But the gold could wait. They had already accumulated a small fortune, and they could return for the rest a little later.
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