The trail divided!

At the edge of a small opening the Indians had separated themselves into two parties.  The trail of one sledge led into the northeast, that of the other into the northwest!

With which sledge was Minnetaki?  They looked at one another in bewilderment.

Mukoki pointed to the trail into the northeast.

“We must fin’ sign—­sign of Minnetaki.  You take that—­I take this!”

Rod started off at a dog trot over the easternmost trail.  At the farther side of the opening, where the sledge had plunged into a clump of hazel, he suddenly stopped, and for a second time that morning a thrilling cry escaped his lips.  On a projecting thorny twig, glistening full in the sun, there fluttered a long, silken strand of hair.  He reached out for it, but Wabi caught his hand, and in another moment Mukoki had joined them.  Gently he took the raven tress between his fingers, his deep-set eyes glaring like red coals of fire.  It was a strand of Minnetaki’s beautiful hair, not for a moment did one of them doubt that; but what held them most, what increased the horror in their eyes, was the quantity of it!  Suddenly Mukoki gave it a gentle pull and the tress slipped free of the twig.

In the next breath he uttered the only expression of supreme disgust in his vocabulary a long-drawn, hissing sound which he used only in those moments when his command of English was entirely inadequate to the situation.

“Minnetaki on other sledge!”

He showed the end of the strand to his young companions.

“See—­hair been cut!  No pulled out by, twig.  Woonga hang heem there—­make us think wrong.”

He waited for no reply, but darted back to the other trail, with Wabi and Rod close behind him.  A quarter of a mile farther on the old pathfinder paused and pointed in exultant silence at a tiny footprint close beside the path of the sledge.  At almost regular intervals now there appeared this sign of Minnetaki’s moccasin.  Her two guards were running ahead of the sledge, and it was apparent to the pursuers that Wabi’s sister was taking advantage of her opportunities to leave these signs behind for those whom she knew would make an attempt at her rescue.  And yet, as they left farther and farther behind them the trail which ran into the northeast, an inexplicable feeling of uneasiness began to steal over Rod.  What if Mukoki had made a mistake?  His confidence in the old warrior’s judgment and sagacity was usually absolute, but it occurred to him, like an ugly humor to stir up his fears, that if the Woongas could cut off a bit of the girl’s hair they could also take off one of her shoes!  Several times he was on the point of giving audible voice to his suspicions but refrained from doing so when he saw the assurance with which both Wabi and Mukoki followed the trail.

Finally he could hold himself no longer.

“Wabi, I’m going back,” he cried softly, forging alongside his companion.  “I’m going back and follow the other trail.  If I don’t find anything in a mile or so I’ll return on the double-quick and overtake you!”