There was no uneasiness in Mukoki’s manner now.  His eyes gleamed, but it was with the fire of battle and resolution, not with excitement.  Once before Rod had seen that look in the old warrior’s face, when they two had fought to save Wabigoon’s life as they were now about to fight to save Minnetaki.  And he knew what it meant.  Cautiously they penetrated the forest, their eyes and ears alert, and, as Mukoki had predicted, the trail of the retreating savages was quite distinct.  They had taken both of the captured sledges, and Rod knew that on one of these Minnetaki was being carried.  Hardly had the three progressed a hundred paces when Mukoki, who was in the lead, stopped short with a huge grunt.  Squarely across the trail lay the body of a dead man.  A glance at the upturned face showed that it was one of the two drivers from Wabinosh House.

“Head split,” said Mukoki, as he led the team around the body.  “Shot, mebby—­then killed with ax.”

The dogs sniffed and cringed as they passed the slain man, and Rod shuddered.  Involuntarily he thought of what might have happened to Minnetaki, and he noticed that after passing this spectacle of death Mukoki doubled his speed.  For an hour the pursuit continued without interruption.  The Woongas were traveling in a narrow trail, single file, with the two sledges between their number.  At the end of that hour the three came upon the remains of another camp-fire near which were built two cedar-bough shelters.  Here the tracks in the snow were much fresher; in places they seemed to have been but lately made.  Still there were no evidences of the captured girl.  The boys could see that Mukoki himself had found no explanation for the sudden freshness of the trail and for the absence of Minnetaki’s footprints among the tracks.  Again and again the shrewd old pathfinder went over the camp.  Not a sign escaped his eyes, not a mark or a broken stick but that was examined by him.  Rod knew that Minnetaki’s capture must have occurred at least three days before, and yet the tracks about this camp were not more than a day old, if they were that.  What did it mean?

The very mystery of the thing filled him with a nameless fear.  Why had not the outlaw Woongas continued their flight?  Why this delay so near the scene of their crime?  He glanced at Wabi, but the Indian youth was as bewildered as himself.  In his eyes, too, there was the gleam of a fear which he could not have named.

Mukoki was beside the charred remains of the fire.  He had buried his hand deep among them, and when he rose be made a sign toward Rod’s watch.

“Eight o’clock, Mukoki.”

“Woonga here las’ night,” declared the old Indian slowly.  “Leave camp four hour ago!”

What did it mean?

Had Minnetaki been hurt, so dangerously hurt that her captors had not dared to move her?

Rod asked himself no more questions.  But he was trembling.  And Mukoki and Wabigoon went on with strange, unnatural faces and breathed not the whisper of a word between them.  The mystery was beyond them all.  But one thing they realized, whatever had happened they were close upon the heels of the savages.  And each step brought them nearer, for with every mile the freshness of the trail increased.  Then came another great surprise.