Mukoki was looking at him, his thin lips parted, his grim visage
relaxed, as if he were weighing the truthfulness of the white youth's
words.

"And I will tell you about our Great Spirit, the white man's Great
Spirit," urged Rod. "For we have a Great Spirit, too, Mukoki, and He
did for the white man's world what yours did for you. He created the
earth, the sky and the sea and all the things in them in six days, and
on the seventh He rested. And that seventh day we call Sunday, Mukoki.
And He made our forests for us, as your Great Spirit made them for
you, only instead of giving them for the love of seven beautiful women
He gave them for the love of man. I'll tell you wonderful things about
Him, Mukoki, if you will tell me about yours. Is it a bargain?"

"Mebby--yes," replied the old pathfinder slowly. His face had
softened, and for the second time Rod knew that he had touched the
heartstrings of his red comrade. They returned to the fire, and Wabi
made room for them upon the log beside him. In his hand he held a copy
of the old birch-bark map.

"I've been thinking about this all day," he said, spreading it out so
that the others could see. "Somehow I haven't been able to get the
idea out of my head that--"

"What?" asked Rod.

"Oh, nothing," hastily added Wabi, as if he regretted what he had
said. "It's a mighty curious map, isn't it? I wonder if we'll ever
know its whole story."