in the stillness heard the snapping of jaws, the snarling of
hunger-crazed animals, and a sound that might have been a great, heaving
moan or a dying bellow. In Wabi's veins the blood danced with the
excitement that stirred his forefathers to battle. Not a line of the
tragedy that was being enacted before his eyes escaped this native son
of the wilderness. It was a magnificent fight! He knew that the old bull
would die by inches in the one-sided duel, and that when it was over
there would be more than one carcass for the survivors to gorge
themselves upon. Quietly he reached up and touched his companion.

"Now is our time," he said. "Come on--still--and on this side of the
tree!"

He slipped down, foot by foot, assisting Rod as he did so, and when both
had reached the ground he bent over as before, that the other might get
upon his back.

"I can make it alone, Wabi," whispered the wounded boy. "Give me a lift
on the arm, will you?"

With the Indian's arm about his waist, the two set off into the
tamaracks. Fifteen minutes later they came to the bank of a small frozen
river. On the opposite side of this, a hundred yards down, was a sight
which both, as if by a common impulse, welcomed with a glad cry. Close
to the shore, sheltered by a dense growth of spruce, was a bright
camp-fire. In response to Wabi's far-reaching whoop a shadowy figure
appeared in the glow and returned the shout.

"Mukoki!" cried the Indian.