Rod called loudly and listened. There was no response. As if impelled by
some presentiment which he himself could not explain, the boy hurried
deeper into the forest along the narrow path which Minnetaki must have
taken. Five minutes--ten minutes--and he called again. Still there was
no answer. Possibly the girl had not gone so far, or she might have left
the path for the thick woods. A little farther on there was a soft spot
in the path where a great tree-trunk had rotted half a century before,
leaving a rich black soil. Clearly traced in this were the imprints of
Minnetaki's moccasins. For a full minute Rod stopped and listened,
making not a sound. Why he maintained silence he could not have
explained. But he knew that he was half a mile from the Post, and that
Wabi's sister should not be here at breakfast time. In this minute's
quiet he unconsciously studied the tracks in the ground. How small the
pretty Indian maiden's feet were! And he noticed, too, that her
moccasins, unlike most moccasins, had a slight heel.

But in a moment more his inspection was cut short. Was that a cry he
heard far ahead? His heart seemed to stop beating, his blood
thrilled--and in another instant he was running down the path like a
deer. Twenty rods beyond this point the path entered an opening in the
forest made by a great fire, and half-way across this opening the youth
saw a sight which chilled him to the marrow. There was Minnetaki, her
long hair tumbling loosely down her back, a cloth tied around her
head--and on either side an Indian dragging her swiftly toward the
opposite forest!

For as long as he might have drawn three breaths Rod stood transfixed
with horror. Then his senses returned to him, and every muscle in his
body seemed to bound with action. For days he had been practising with