the young Indian and placed a hand on his shoulder as he ran.

"We will reach our old camp--in the plain--to-morrow?" he questioned,
between breaths.

"To-morrow," affirmed Wabi. "Mukoki will show us the shortest cut to
it. After that, after we reach the camp, everything will depend upon
you."

Rod fell behind in the path made by the sledge, and saved his breath.
His mind was working as never before in his life. When they reached
the camp in which the wounded Mukoki had lain after their escape from
the Woongas, could he find the old trail where he had seen Minnetaki's
footprints? He was quite sure of himself, and yet he was conscious of
an indefinable something growing in him as he noticed more and more
what the sun had done that day. Was it nervousness, or fear? Surely he
could find the trail, even though it was almost obliterated! But he
wished that it had been Mukoki or Wabigoon who had discovered it,
either of whom, with the woodcraft instinct born in them, would have
gone to it as easily as a fox to the end of a strong trail hidden in
autumn leaves. If he did fail--He shuddered, even as he ran, as he
thought of the fate that awaited Minnetaki. A few hours before he had
been one of the happiest youths in the world. Wabi's lovely little
sister, he had believed, was safe at Kenegami House; he had bade adieu
to his friends at the Post; every minute after that had taken him
nearer to that far city in the South, to his mother, and home. And now
so suddenly that he had hardly come to realize the situation he was
plunged into what gave promise of being the most thrilling and tragic
adventure of his life. A few weeks more, when spring had come, he
would have returned to his friends accompanied by his mother, and they