the experienced hunter makes no sign or sound while his dog is nosing
out a half-lost trail so they held back while Mukoki, the most famous
pathfinder in all those regions, led them slowly on. The last of the
stars went out. For a time the blackness of the night grew deeper;
then, in the southeast, came the first faint streak of dawn. Day is
born as suddenly as it dies in these regions, and it was soon light
enough for Mukoki to resume his trail at a trot. A few minutes more
and a clump of balsam and spruce loomed up out of the plain ahead of
them. Neither Rod nor Wahigoon recognized it until the old warrior
halted the dogs close in its shadows and they saw the look of triumph
in his face.

"The camp!" breathed Wabi.

"The camp!"

Trembling, his voice quivering with suppressed excitement, the Indian
youth turned to Roderick Drew.

"Rod--it's all up to you!"

Mukoki, too, had come close to his side.

"There--camp!" he whispered. "Now--where Minnetaki's trail?"

The old warrior's eyes were blazing.

"Where?"

A dozen paces away was the balsam shelter they had built. But that was