apparent to Rod that the mysterious person whom he was pursuing was perfectly at home in the lonely chasm.  As straight as a drawn whip-lash his trail led from one break in the rocky chaos to another.  Never did he err.  Once the tracks seemed to end squarely against a broad face of rock, but there the young hunter found a cleft in the granite wall scarcely wider than his body, through which he cautiously wormed his way.  Where this cleft opened into the chasm again the fugitive had rested for a few moments, and had placed some burden upon the snow at his feet.  A single glance disclosed what this burden had been, for in the snow was that same clearly-defined impression of a human hand!

There was no longer a doubt in Roderick’s mind.  He was on the trail of Minnetaki’s captor, and the outlaw was carrying his victim in his arms!  Minnetaki was injured!  Perhaps she was dead.  The fear gripped at his heart until he looked again at the imprint in the snow—­the widely spread fingers, the flat, firm palm.  Only a living hand would have left its mark in that manner.

As on that autumn day in the forest, when he had fought for Minnetaki’s life, so now all hesitation and fear left him.  His blood leaped with anticipation rather than excitement, and he was eager for the moment when he would once more throw his life in the balance in behalf of Wabi’s sister.  He was determined to take advantage of the Woonga fighting code and fire upon his enemy from ambush if the opportunity offered, but at the same time he had no dread at the thought of engaging in a closer struggle if this should be necessary.  He looked well to his rifle, loosened his big army revolver in its holster, and saw that his hunting-knife did not stick in its scabbard.  A short distance from the cleft in the wall of rock the outlaw had rested again; and this time, when he continued his flight, Minnetaki had walked beside him.

A peculiarity in the new trail struck Rod, and for some moments he was at a loss to account for it.  One of the girl’s dainty feet left its moccasin imprint very distinctly; the mark of the other was no more than a formless blotch in the snow.  Then the youth thought of the footprints that were leading on Mukoki and Wabigoon, and despite his desperate situation he could not repress a smile.  He had been right.  The Woongas had taken off one of Minnetaki’s moccasins and were using it to make a false trail into the northwest.  Those formless tracks ahead of him meant that one of the Indian maiden’s feet was wrapped with a bit of cloth or fur to protect it from the cold.

Rod soon perceived that the flight of the outlaw and his captive was now much more rapid, and he quickened his own pace.  The chasm grew wilder.  At times it appeared impassable, but always the trail of the fugitives led straight to some hidden cleft through which the boy followed, holding his breath in tense expectancy of what might happen at any instant.