Mukoki grunted something that was a little less than approval, and Rod felt a peculiar sensation shoot through him as the frail birch headed out into the big lake.  Their steady strokes sent the canoe through the water at fully four miles an hour, and by the time broad day had come the forest-clad shore at Wabinosh House was only a hazy outline in the distance.  The white youth’s unspoken fears were dispelled when the sun rose, warm and glorious, over the shimmering lake, driving the chill from the air, and seeming to bring with it the sweet scents of the forests far away.  Joyfully he labored at his paddle, the mere exhilaration of the morning filling his arms with the strength of a young giant.  Wabi whistled and sang wild snatches of Indian song by turns, Rod joined him with Yankee Doodle and The Star Spangled Banner, and even the silent Mukoki gave a whoop now and then to show that he was as happy as they.

One thought filled the minds of all.  They were fairly started on that most thrilling of all trails, the trail of gold.  In their possession was the secret of a great fortune.  Romance, adventure, discovery, awaited them.  The big, silent North, mysterious in its age-old desolation, where even the winds seemed to whisper of strange things that had happened countless years before, was just ahead of them.  They were about to bury themselves in its secrets, to wrest from it the yellow treasure it guarded, and their blood tingled and leaped excitedly at the thought.  What would be revealed to them?  What might they not discover?  What strange adventures were they destined to encounter in that Unknown World, peopled only by the things of the wild, that stretched trackless and unexplored before them?  A hundred thoughts like these fired the brains of the three adventurers, and made their work a play, and every breath they drew one of joy.

The lake was alive with ducks.  Huge flocks of big black ducks, mallards, blue bills and whistlers rose about them, and now and then, when an unusually large flock was seen floating upon the water ahead of them, one of the three would take a pot-shot with his rifle.  Rod and Mukoki had each killed two, and Wabi three, when the old warrior stopped the fun.

“No waste too much shooting on ducks,” he advised.  “Need shells—­big game.”

Several times during the morning the three rested from their exertions, and at noon they ceased paddling for more than an hour while they ate the generous dinner that had been put up for them at Wabinosh House.  The farther side of the lake was now plainly visible, and when the journey was resumed all eyes eagerly sought for signs of the mouth of the Ombabika, where their stirring adventures of the winter before had begun.  For some time Wabi’s gaze had been fixed upon a long, white rim along the shore, to which he now called his companions’ attention.

“It seems to be moving,” he said, turning to Mukoki.  “Is it possible—­” He paused doubtfully.