insane asylum, near Detroit. He's--"

The words were frozen on his lips. Again the cry echoed up the
chasm. It was nearer this time, and with a sobbing, terrified sound,
something that Wabi had never heard fall from Mukoki's lips before,
the old warrior clung to Roderick's arm. Darkness hid the terror in
his face, but the white boy could feel it in the grip of his hands.

"Mad, raving mad!" he cried. Suddenly he gripped Mukoki fiercely by
the shoulders, and as Wabigoon crouched forward, ready to fire at the
first movement in the gloom, he thrust the butt of his rifle in his
back. "Don't shoot!" he commanded. "Mukoki, don't be a fool! That's
a man back there, a man who has suffered and starved, starved, mind
you!--until he's mad, stark mad! It would be worse than murder to kill
him!"

He stopped, and Mukoki drew back a step, breathing deeply.

"Heem--starve--no eat--gone bad dog?" he questioned softly. In an
instant Wabi was at his side.

"That's it, Muky--he's gone bad dog, just like that husky of ours who
went bad because he swallowed a fish bone. White men sometimes go bad
dog when they are thirsty and starving!"

"Our Great Spirit tells us that we must never harm them," added Rod.
"We put them in big houses, larger than all of the houses at the Post
together, and feed them and clothe them and care for them all their
lives. Are you afraid of a bad dog, Muky, or of a man who has gone bad
dog?"