Swish! fell the birch, and a yell of pain burst from the white youth’s lips.

Swish!—­Swish!—­Swish!

“Ouch!  Great Caesar—­Let up!”

“Don’t move!” shouted Wabi.  “Take it like a man—­you deserve it!”

Again and again the birch fell.  Rod groaned as he rose to his feet after Wabi had stopped.  “Oh, please—­please give me that whip!”

“Not too hard, you know,” warned Wabi, as he fitted himself over the log.

“You chose your own poison,” reminded Rod, rolling up his sleeve.  “Just twice as hard, no more!”

And the birch began to fall.

When it was over Rod’s arm ached, and Wabi, despite his Indian stoicism, let out a long howl at the last blow.

During the entire scene of chastisement Mukoki stood like one struck dumb.

“We’ll never be bad any more, Muky,” promised Wabigoon, rubbing himself gently.  “That is, if we are, we’ll whip ourselves again, eh, Rod?”

“Not so long as I can run!” assured Rod with emphasis.  “I’m willing to lend a helping hand at any time you think you deserve another, but beyond that please count me out!”

For an hour after the self-punishment of the young gold hunters the three gathered fuel for the night and balsam boughs for their beds.  It was dark by the time they sat down to their supper, which they ate in the light of a huge fire of dry poplar.

“This is better than paddling all night, even if we did have a close shave,” said Rod, after they had finished and settled themselves comfortably.

Wabi gave a grimace and shrugged his shoulders.

“Do you know how close your call was?” he asked.  “It was so close that just by one chance in ten thousand you were saved.  I had pulled myself upon the ice by catching hold of the bow of the canoe and when Muky saw that I was safe he watched for you.  But you didn’t show up.  We had given you up for dead when a few bubbles came to the surface, and quicker than a wink Mukoki thrust down his arm.  He got you by the hair as you were sinking for the last time.  Think of that, Rod, and dream of it to-night.  It’ll do you good.”

“Ugh!” shuddered the white youth.  “Let’s talk of something more cheerful.  What a glorious fire that poplar makes!”

“Mak’ light more as twent’ t’ous’nd candles!” agreed Mukoki.  “Heem bright!”

“Once upon a time, many ages ago, there was a great chief in this country,” began Wabigoon, “and he had seven beautiful daughters.  So beautiful were they that the Great Spirit himself fell in love with them, and for the first time in countless moons he appeared upon earth, and told the chief that if he would give him his seven daughters he, in turn, would grant the father seven great desires.  And the chief, surrendering his daughters, asked that he might be given a day without night, and a night without day, and his wish was granted; and his third and fourth and fifth desires were that the land might always