throat, tamed him—and to-morrow night you will see how Mukoki has taught him to get even with his people."
It was two hours later when Rod and Wabigoon extinguished the candles and returned to their blankets. And for another hour after that the former found it impossible to sleep. He wondered where Mukoki was—wondered what he was doing, and how in his strange madness he found his way in the trackless wilderness.
When he finally fell asleep it was to dream of the Indian mother and her child; only after a little there was no child, and the woman changed into Minnetaki, and the ravenous wolves into men. From this unpleasant picture he was aroused by a series of prods in his side, and opening his eyes he beheld Wabi in his blankets a yard away, pointing over and beyond him and nodding his head. Rod looked, and caught his breath.
There was Mukoki—peeling potatoes!
"Hello, Muky!" he shouted.
The old Indian looked up with a grin. His face bore no signs of his mad night on the trail. He nodded cheerfully and proceeded with the preparation of breakfast as though he had just risen from his blankets after a long night's rest.
"Better get up," he advised. "Big day's hunt. Much fine sunshine to-day. Find wolves on mountain—plenty wolves!"
The boys tumbled from their blankets and began dressing.
"What time did you get in?" asked Wabi.
"Now," replied Mukoki, pointing to the hot stove and the peeled potatoes. "Just make fire good."
Wabi gave Rod a suggestive look as the old Indian bent over the stove.
"What were you doing last night?" he questioned.
"Big moon—might get shot," grunted Mukoki. "See lynx on hill. See wolf-tracks on red deer trail. No shot."
This was as much of the history of Mukoki's night on the trail as the boys could secure, but during their breakfast Wabi shot another glance at Rod, and as Mukoki left the table for a moment to close the damper in the stove he found an opportunity to whisper:
"See if I'm not right. He will choose the mountain trail." When their companion returned, he said: "We had better split up this morning, hadn't we, Muky? It looks to me as though there are two mighty good lines for traps—one over the hill, where that creek leads off through the range of ridges to the east, and the other along the creek which runs through the hilly plains to the north. What do you think of it?"
"Good" agreed the old hunter. "You two go north—I take ridges."
"No, you and I will take the ridges and Wabi will go north alone," amended Rod quickly. "I'm going with you, Mukoki!"
Mukoki, who was somewhat flattered by this preference of the white youth, grinned and chuckled and began to talk more volubly about the plans which were in his head. It was agreed that they all would return to the cabin at an early hour in the afternoon, for the old Indian seemed positive that they would have their first wolf hunt that night.
Rod noticed that the captive wolf received no breakfast that morning, and he easily guessed the reason.
The traps were now divided. Three different sizes had been brought from the Post—fifty small ones for mink, marten and other small fur animals; fifteen fox traps, and as many larger ones for lynx and wolves. Wabi equipped himself with twenty of the small traps and four each of fox and lynx traps, while Rod and Mukoki took about forty in all. The remainder of the caribou meat was then cut into chunks and divided equally among them for bait.
The sun was just beginning to show itself above the wilderness when the hunters left camp. As Mukoki had predicted, it was a glorious day, one of those bitterly cold, cloudless days when, as the Indians believe, the great Creator robs the rest of the world of the sun that it may shine in all its glory upon their own savage land. From the top of the hill that sheltered their home Rod looked out over the glistening forests and lakes in rapt and speechless admiration; but only for a few moments did the three pause, then took up their different trails.
At the foot of this hill Mukoki and his companion struck the creek. They had not progressed more than fifty rods when the old Indian stopped and pointed at a fallen log which spanned the stream. The snow on this log was beaten by tiny footprints. Mukoki gazed a moment, cast an observant eye along the trail, and at once threw off his pack.
"Mink!" he explained. He crossed the frozen creek, taking care not to touch the log. On the opposite side the tracks spread out over a windfall of trees. "Whole family mink live here," continued Mukoki. "T'ree—mebby four—mebby five. Build trap-house right here!"
Never before had Rod seen a trap set as the old Indian now set his. Very near the end of the log over which the mink made their trail he quickly built a shelter of sticks which when completed was in the form of a tiny wigwam. At the back of this was placed a chunk of the caribou meat, and in front of this bait, so that an animal would have to spring it in passing, was set a trap, carefully covered with snow and a few leaves. Within twenty minutes Mukoki had built two of these shelters and had set two traps.
"Why do you build those little houses?" asked Rod, as they again took up their trail.
"Much snow come in winter," elucidated the Indian. "Build house to keep snow off traps. No do that, be digging out traps all winter. When mink—heem smell meat—go in house he got to go over trap. Make house for all small animal like heem. No good for lynx. He see house—walk roun' 'n' roun' 'n' roun'—and then go 'way. Smart fellow—lynx. Wolf and fox, too."
"Is a mink worth much?"
"Fi' dollar—no less that. Seven—eight dollar for good one."
During the next mile six other mink traps were set. The creek now ran along the edge of a high rocky ridge and Mukoki's eyes began to shine with a new interest. No longer did he seem entirely absorbed in the discovery of signs of fur animals. His eyes were constantly scanning the sun-bathed side of the ridge ahead and his progress was slow and cautious. He spoke in whispers, and Rod followed his example. Frequently the two would stop and scan the openings for signs of life. Twice they set fox traps where there were evident signs of runways; in a wild ravine, strewn with tumbled trees and masses of rock, they struck a lynx track and set a trap for him at each end of the ravine; but even during these operations Mukoki's interest was divided. The hunters now walked abreast, about fifty yards apart, Rod never forging a foot ahead of the cautious Mukoki. Suddenly the youth heard a low call and he saw his companion beckoning to him with frantic enthusiasm.
"Wolf!" whispered Mukoki as Rod joined him.
In the snow were a number of tracks that reminded Rod of those made by a dog.
"T'ree wolf!" continued the Indian jubilantly. "Travel early this morning. Somewhere in warm sun on mountain!"
They followed now in the wolf trail. A little way on Rod found part of the carcass of a rabbit with fox tracks about it. Here Mukoki set another trap. A little farther still they came across a fisher trail and another trap was laid. Caribou and deer tracks crossed and recrossed the creek, but the Indian paid little attention to them. A fourth wolf joined the pack, and a fifth, and half an hour later the trail of three other wolves cut at right angles across the one they were following and disappeared in the direction of the thickly timbered plains. Mukoki's face was crinkled with joy.
"Many wolf near," he exclaimed. "Many wolf off there 'n' off there 'n' off there. Good place for night hunt."
Soon the creek swung out from the ridge and cut a circuitous channel through a small swamp. Here there were signs of wild life which set Rod's heart thumping and his blood tingling with excitement. In places the snow was literally packed with deer tracks. Trails ran in every direction, the bark had been rubbed from scores of saplings, and every step gave fresh evidence of the near presence of game. The stealth with which Mukoki now advanced was almost painful. Every twig was pressed behind him noiselessly, and once when Rod struck his snow-shoe against the butt of a small tree the old Indian held up his hands in mock horror. Ten minutes, fifteen—twenty of them passed in this cautious, breathless trailing of the swamp.
Suddenly Mukoki stopped, and a hand was