Rod rubbed his eyes, thus confessing that as yet he had not been out from between his furs.
"Well, if you go out there in the open for a hundred yards you won't find it," finished his comrade. "The snow has covered it completely."
Although they lacked everything but meat, this breakfast in the spruce thicket was one of the happiest of the entire trip, and when the three hunters were done each had eaten of his partridge until only the bones were left. There was now little cause for fear, for it was still snowing and their enemies were twenty-five miles to the north of them. This fact did not deter the adventurers from securing an early start, however, and they traveled southward through the storm until noon, when they built a camp of spruce and made preparations to rest until the following day.
"We must be somewhere near the Kenogami trail," Wabi remarked to Mukoki. "We may have passed it."
"No pass it," replied Mukoki. "She off there." He pointed to the south.
"You see the Kenogami trail is a sled trail leading from the little town of Nipigon, on the railroad, to Kenogami House, which is a Hudson Bay Post at the upper end of Long Lake," explained Wabi to his white companion. "The factor of Kenogami is a great friend of ours and we have visited back and forth often, but I've been over the Kenogami trail only once. Mukoki has traveled it many times."
Several rabbits were killed before dinner. No other hunting was done during the afternoon, most of which was passed in sleep by the exhausted adventurers. When Rod awoke he found that it had stopped snowing and was nearly dark.
Mukoki's wound was beginning to trouble him again, and it was decided that at least a part of the next day should be passed in camp, and that both Rod and Wabigoon should make an effort to kill some animal that would furnish them with the proper kind of oil to dress it with, the fat of almost any species of animal except mink or rabbit being valuable for this purpose. With dawn the two started out, while Mukoki, much against his will, was induced to remain in camp. A short distance away the hunters separated, Rod striking to the eastward and Wabi into the south.
For an hour Roderick continued without seeing game, though there were plenty of signs of deer and caribou about him. At last he determined to strike for a ridge a mile to the south, from the top of which he was more likely to get a shot than in the thick growth of the plains. He had not traversed more than a half of the distance when much to his surprise he came upon a well-beaten trail running slightly diagonally with his own, almost due north. Two dog-teams had passed since yesterday's storm, and on either side of the sleds were the snow-shoe trails of men. Rod saw that there were three of these, and at least a dozen dogs in the two teams. It at once occurred to him that this was the Kenogami trail, and impelled by nothing more than curiosity he began to follow it.
Half a mile farther on he found where the party had stopped to cook a meal. The remains of their camp-fire lay beside a huge log, which was partly burned away, and about it were scattered bones and bits of bread. But what most attracted Rod's attention were other tracks which joined those of the three people on snow-shoes. He was sure that these tracks had been made by women, for the footprints made by one of them were unusually small. Close to the log he found a single impression in the snow that caused his heart to give a sudden unexpected thump within him. In this spot the snow had been packed by one of the snow-shoes, and in this comparatively hard surface the footprint was clearly defined. It had been made by a moccasin. Rod knew that. And the moccasin wore a slight heel! He remembered, now, that thrilling day in the forest near Wabinosh House when he had stopped to look at Minnetaki's footprints in the soft earth through which she had been driven by her Woonga abductors, and he remembered, too, that she was the only person at the Post who wore heels on her moccasins. It was a queer coincidence! Could Minnetaki have been here? Had she made that footprint in the snow? Impossible, declared the young hunter's better sense. And yet his blood ran a little faster as he touched the delicate impression with his bare fingers. It reminded him of Minnetaki, anyway; her foot would have made just such a trail, and he wondered if the girl who had stepped there was as pretty as she.
He followed now a little faster than before, and ten minutes later he came to where a dozen snow-shoe trails had come in from the north and had joined the three. After meeting, the two parties had evidently joined forces and had departed over the trail made by those who had appeared from the direction of the Post.
"Friends from Kenogami House came down to meet them," mused Rod, and as he turned back in the direction of the camp he formed a picture of that meeting in the heart of the wilderness, of the glad embraces of husband and wife, and the joy of the pretty girl with the tiny feet as she kissed her father, and perhaps her big brother; for no girl could possess feet just like Minnetaki's and not be pretty!
He found that Wabi had preceded him when he returned. The young Indian had shot a small doe, and that noon witnessed a feast in camp. For his lack of luck Rod had his story to tell of the people on the trail. The passing of this party formed the chief topic of conversation during the rest of the day, for after weeks of isolation in the wilderness even this momentary nearness of living civilized men and women was a great event to them. But there was one fact which Rod dwelt but slightly upon. He did not emphasize the similarity of the pretty footprint and that made by Minnetaki's moccasin, for he knew that a betrayal of his knowledge and admiration of the Indian maiden's feet would furnish Wabi with fun-making ammunition for a week. He did say, however, that the footprint in the snow struck him as being just about the size that Minnetaki would make.
All that day and night the hunters remained in camp, sleeping, eating and taking care of Mukoki's wound, but the next morning saw them ready for their homeward journey with the coming of dawn. They struck due westward now, satisfied that they were well beyond the range of the outlaw Woongas.
As the boys talked over their adventure on the long journey back toward the Post, Wabi thought with regret of the moose head which he had left buried in the "Indian ice-box," and even wished, for a moment, to go home by the northern trail, despite the danger from the hostile Woongas, in order to recover the valuable antlers. But Mukoki shook his head.
"Woonga make good fight. What for go again into wolf trap?"
And so they reluctantly gave up the notion of carrying the big head of the bull moose back to the Post.
A little before noon of the second day they saw Lake Nipigon from the top of a hill. Columbus when he first stepped upon the shore of his newly discovered land was not a whit happier than Roderick Drew when that joyous youth, running out upon the snow-covered ice, attempted to turn a somersault with his snow-shoes on!
Just over there, thought Rod—just over there—a hundred miles or so, is Minnetaki and the Post! Happy visions filled his mind all that afternoon as they traveled across the foot of the lake. Three weeks more and he would see his mother—and home. And Wabi was going with him! He seemed tireless; his spirits were never exhausted; he laughed, whistled, even attempted to sing. He wondered if Minnetaki would be very glad to see him. He knew that she would be glad—but how glad?
Two days more were spent in circling the lower end of the lake. Then their trail turned northward, and on the second evening after this, as the cold red sun was sinking in all that heatless glory of the great North's day-end, they came out upon a forest-clad ridge and looked down upon the House of Wabinosh.
And as they looked—and as the burning disk of the sun, falling down and down behind forest, mountain and plain, bade its last adieu to the land of the wild, there came to them, strangely clear and beautiful, the notes of a bugle.
And Wabi, listening, grew rigid with wonder. As the last notes died away the cheers that had been close to his lips gave way to the question, "What does that mean?"
"A bugle!" said Rod.
As he spoke there came to their ears the heavy, reverberating boom of a big gun.
"If I'm not mistaken," he added, "that is a sunset salute. I didn't know you had—soldiers—at the Post!"
"We haven't," replied the Indian youth. "By George, what do you suppose it means?"