in the cavernous depths. For a few minutes this swift fading of day
into night gripped the adventurers in its spell. What did the lonely
solitudes of that chasm hold for them? Where would they lead them? To
Rod's mind there came a picture of the silver fox and a thought of
his dream, when for a few miles he had explored the mysteries of this
strange, sunless world shut in by rock walls. Again he saw the dancing
skeletons, heard the rattle of their bones, and watched the wonderful
dream-battle that had led him to the birch-bark map. Wabigoon, his
eyes gleaming in the gathering darkness, thought of their flight from
the outlaw savages, and Mukoki--

The white youth had turned a little to look at the old warrior. Mukoki
sat as rigid as a pillar of stone an arm's reach from him. Head erect,
arms tense, his eyes gleaming strangely, he stared straight out into
the gloom between the chasm walls. Rod shivered. He knew, knew without
questioning, that Mukoki was thinking of the cry!

And at that instant there floated up from the black chaos ahead a
sound, a sound low and weird, like the moaning of a winter's wind
through the pine tops, swelling, advancing, until it ended in a
shriek--a shriek that echoed and reëchoed between the chasm walls,
dying away in a wail that froze the blood of the three who sat and
listened!




CHAPTER XII