The morning was one of those rare gifts of budding spring, warm and
redolent with the sweetness of new life, and its beauty acted as a
tonic on the three adventurers. Their fears of the day before were
gone, and with song and whistle and cheery voice they began the
descent of the mountain. Mukoki went on ahead of Rod and Wabigoon with
his pack, and the two boys had not made more than two of the six miles
in the portage across the plain when he met them again, returning for
his second load. By noon the canoe and its contents were safely at
the creek, and the gold hunters halted until after dinner. The little
stream across which Rod had easily leaped without wetting his feet a
few weeks before had swollen into a fair-sized river, and in places
its searching waters had formed tiny lakes. Unlike the Ombabika,
sweeping down from its mountain heights, there was but little current
here, a fact that immensely pleased Mukoki and his companions.

"We near mak' cabin to-night," said the old Indian. "I take load
to-night."

During the two hours' paddle up-stream Mukoki spoke but little, and as
they approached nearer to their last winter's thrilling fight with the
Woongas, in which they had so nearly lost their lives, he ceased even
to respond by nod or grunt to the conversation of his companions. Once
Wabigoon spoke again of Wolf, and for an instant the old Indian, who
was in the bow, half turned to them, and for two strokes his paddle
rested in mid air. From the stern Wabi reached forward and poked Rod,
and the white youth understood. Next to Minnetaki and Wabigoon, and
perhaps himself, he knew that the faithful pathfinder loved Wolf best,
and that; he was filled with a little of that savage madness which
came to him now and then when he dwelt on the terrible tragedy that
had entered his life many years before. When the hunters reached the