up the river.

Bowing his head in the white clouds falling silently about him, Wabi
started in swift pursuit. He could not see ten rods ahead of him, so
dense was the storm, and at times one side or the other of the river was
lost to view. Conditions could not have been better for their flight out
of the Woonga country, thought the young hunter. By nightfall they would
be many miles up the river, and no sign would be left behind to reveal
their former presence or to show in which direction they had gone. For
two hours he followed tirelessly over the trail, which became more and
more distinct as he proceeded, showing that he was rapidly gaining on
his comrades. But even now, though the trail was fresher and deeper, so
disguised had it become by falling snow that a passing hunter might have
thought a moose or caribou had passed that way.

At the end of the third hour, by which time he figured that he had made
at least ten miles, Wabi sat down to rest, and to refresh himself with
the lunch which he had taken from the camp that morning. He was
surprised at Rod's endurance. That Mukoki and the white boy were still
three or four miles ahead of him he did not doubt, unless they, too, had
stopped for dinner. This, on further thought, he believed was highly
probable.

The wilderness about him was intensely still. Not even the twitter of a
snow-bird marred its silence. For a long time Wabi sat as immovable as
the log upon which he had seated himself, resting and listening. Such a
day as this held a peculiar and unusual fascination for him. It was as
if the whole world was shut out, and that even the wild things of the
forest dared not go abroad in this supreme moment of Nature's handiwork,
when with lavish hand she spread the white mantle that was to stretch