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Updated: May 28, 2025
But to-night Mukoki's experience had passed beyond the knowledge of his race, and he told of what had happened, trembling still, cringing when a great white rabbit darted close to the fire. Rod and Wabi listened to him in mute astonishment. "Could it have been a Woonga?" asked Wabi. "No Woonga," replied the old warrior quickly, shaking his head. "Woonga no mak' noise lak that!"
No look like bad man Woonga to Mukoki!" When Rod finally emerged from his den to join the others his face was flushed and wore what Wabi described as a "sheepish grin." "It's all right for you fellows to make fun of me," he declared. "But what if they had been Woongas? By George, if we're ever attacked again I won't do a thing. I'll let you fellows fight 'em off!"
Those who were left moved to the vicinity of the Post. Hunters from Wabinosh House were ambushed and slain. Indians who came to the Post to trade were regarded as enemies, and the passing of years seemed to make but little difference. The feud still existed. The outlaws came to be spoken of as "Woongas," and a Woonga was regarded as a fair target for any man's rifle.
"River go like much devil 'long edge of mountain," he continued. "Make heap noise through rock, then make swamp thick for cow moose then run through mountain and make wide, smooth river once more. We go over mountain. Snow all night. Morning come no trail for Woonga. We stay here make big trail in morning. Woonga follow like devil, ver' plain to see!"
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.
Her beautiful hair, glistening black in the firelight, hung in a heavy braid over her shoulder; her eyes were staring wildly into the flames, as if she were about to leap into them, and back of her so close that he might have touched her, was a figure that sent a chill of horror through him. It was Woonga, the outlaw chief! He was talking, his red face was fiendish, he stretched out a hand!
"Mak' old camp on mountain by night," said Mukoki. Wabi broke into a happy laugh and thumped Rod on the back. "Remember the big lynx you shot, Rod, and thought it was a Woonga, and had us all frightened out of our wits?" he cried. Rod colored at the memory of his funny adventure, which was thrilling enough at the time, and began assisting Mukoki in unloading the canoe.
It climbed up and up, until it filled the night above it with a dull glow a single unbroken stream of fire that rose far above the swamps and forests of the plains. "That's a burning jackpine!" said Wabigoon. "Burning jackpine!" agreed the old warrior. Then he added, "Woonga signal fire!" To Rod the blazing pine seemed to be but a short distance away a mile, perhaps a little more.
Woonga, chief of a warlike tribe, had been his rival, and when the white man won in the battle for love his fierce heart blazed with the fire of hatred and revenge. From that day the relentless strife against the people of Wabinosh House began. The followers of Woonga turned from trappers and hunters to murderers and outlaws, and became known all over that wilderness country as the Woongas.
Both Mukoki and Wabigoon met him on the opposite side of the rock. "'Nother heap big Woonga," grinned the old pathfinder remembering Rod's former adventure on this same plateau. "Kill?" "Missed!" said Rod shortly. "What a scream that was! Ugh!" This time he went to bed with the others, and slept until early dawn.
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