knife, cut deftly around the wolf's head just below the ears, and with
one downward, one upward, and two sidewise jerks tore off the scalp.

Suddenly, without giving a thought to his speech, there shot from Rod,

"Is that the way you scalp people?"

Mukoki looked up, his jaw fell--and then he gave the nearest thing to a
real laugh that Rod ever heard come from between his lips. When Mukoki
laughed it was usually in a half-chuckle, a half-gurgle--something that
neither Rod nor Wabi could have imitated if they had tried steadily for
a month.

"Never scalped white people," the old Indian shot back. "Father did
when--young man. Did great scalp business!"

Mukoki had not done chuckling to himself even when they reached camp.

Scarcely ten minutes were taken in eating breakfast. Snow was already
beginning to fall, and if the hunters took up their trail at once their
tracks would undoubtedly be entirely obliterated by midday, which was
the best possible thing that could happen for them in the Woonga
country. On the other hand, Wabi was anxious to follow back over the
wolf-trail before the snow shut it in. There was no danger of their
becoming separated and lost, for it was agreed that Rod and Mukoki
should travel straight up the frozen river. Wabi would overtake them
before nightfall.

Arming himself with his rifle, revolver, knife, and a keen-edged
belt-ax, the Indian boy lost no time in leaving camp. A quarter of an