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?"
He hurried down the ridge, the others close behind him. Fifteen minutes later they trailed out into the open near the Post. A strange change had occurred since Rod and his companions had last seen Wabinosh House. In the open half a dozen rude log shelters had been erected, and about these were scores of soldiers in the uniform of his Majesty, the King of England. Shouts of greeting died on the hunters' lips. They hastened to the dwelling of the factor, and while Wabi rushed in to meet his mother and father Rod cut across to the Company's store. He had often found Minnetaki there. But his present hope was shattered, and after looking in he turned back to the house. By the time he had reached the steps a second time the princess mother, with Wabi close behind her, came out to welcome him.
Wabi's face was flushed with excitement. His eyes sparkled.
"Rod, what do you think!" he exclaimed, after his mother had gone back to see to the preparation of their supper. "The government has declared war on the Woongas and has sent up a company of regulars to wipe'em out! They have been murdering and robbing as never before during the last two months. The regulars start after them to-morrow!"
He was breathing hard and excitedly.
"Can't you stay—and join in the campaign?" he pleaded.
"I can't," replied Rod. "I can't, Wabi; I've got to go home. You know that. And you're going with me. The regulars can get along without you. Go back to Detroit with me—and get your mother to let Minnetaki go with us."
"Not now, Rod," said the Indian youth, taking his friend's hand. "I won't be able to go—now. Nor Minnetaki either. They have been having such desperate times here that father has sent her away. He wanted mother to go, but she wouldn't."
"Sent Minnetaki away?" gasped Rod.
"Yes. She started for Kenogami House four days ago in company with an Indian woman and three guides. That was undoubtedly their trail you found."
"And the footprint—"
"Was hers," laughed Wabi, putting an arm affectionately around his chum's shoulders. "Won't you stay, Rod?"
"It is impossible."
He went to his old room, and until suppertime sat alone in silent dejection. Two great disappointments had fallen upon him. Wabi could not go home with him—and he had missed Minnetaki. The young girl had left a note in her mother's care for him, and he read it again and again. She had written it believing that she would return to Wabinosh House before the hunters, but at the end she had added a paragraph in which she said that if she did not do this Rod must make the Post a second visit
