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Updated: June 14, 2025
It was an ideal hiding-place at night, and if Mukoki was strong enough they could steal up out of the chasm and secure a long start into the south before the Woongas discovered their flight in the morning. There was just one chance of failure.
In a few seconds the sounds had reached Mukoki's ears and the old warrior came swinging back at running speed. Rod darted along the ridge to meet him, firing a single shot now and then to let him know where he was, and in fifteen minutes Mukoki came panting up the mountain. "The Woongas!" shouted Rod. "They've attacked the camp! See!" He pointed to the cloud of smoke.
It has been killed by wolves, and Wolf smells some of his own blood coming in to the feast. Muky has set traps there and we may have our first scalp in the morning." "Where is Mukoki?" "On watch. He is going to keep guard until a little after midnight, and then I'll turn out. We can't be too careful, with the Woongas in the neighborhood." Rod shifted himself uneasily.
He felt confident that he would discover the lost treasure ground if given time, and he was just as confident that if war was once begun between themselves and the Woongas it would mean disaster or quick flight from the country.
It was an ideal place for an ambush, but the old warrior did not hesitate. The Woongas had followed a moose trail, with which they were apparently well acquainted, and in this traveling was easy. But Rod gave an involuntary shudder as he gazed ahead into the chaotic tangle through which it led.
For a quarter of an hour he kept his eyes with ceaseless vigilance upon their back trail. Surely the Woongas had secured their snow-shoes by this time! Was it possible that they had given up the pursuit that their terrible experience in the dip had made them afraid of further battle? Rod answered this question in the negative.
His lips ceased to move and he sank heavily in his companion's arms. "What is it, Wabi? Quick! Speak!" urged the other. His face had grown strangely white, his voice trembled. "What about Minnetaki?" Again the Indian youth fought to bring himself back to life. His words came faintly, "Minnetaki has been captured by the Woongas!" Then even his breath seemed to stop, and he lay like one dead.
Why had he pursued the mail until his dogs were nearly dead, and he himself had fallen unconscious in his tracks? Was Minnetaki dead? Had the Woongas killed Wabi's beautiful little sister? Again and again he implored his friend to speak to him, until the courier pushed him back and carried Wabi to the mail sled. "Hustle up there to that bunch of spruce and build a fire," he commanded.
But in this instance he was possessed of the cooler judgment of his race. He believed that as yet the Woongas were not aware of their presence in this region, and that there was still a large possibility of the renegades traveling northward beyond their trapping sphere. He hoped that this would be the case, in spite of his desire to recapture his gun.
Did the Woongas not fear pursuit? Was it possible that they believed the hunters would not hasten to give them battle? Or were they relying upon the strength of their numbers, or, perhaps, planning some kind of ambush? Mukoki's advance now became slower and more cautious. His keen eyes took in every tree and clump of bushes ahead.
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