Where was Wolf now?

Unconsciously Rod questioned himself aloud, and from close behind him Wabi answered.

“With the hunt-pack, Rod.  He’s forgotten us; gone back to the wild.”

“Gone back to the wild, yes,” said Rod; “but forgotten us, no!”

Wabi made no reply.

CHAPTER X

THE MYSTERIOUS SHOT

For many minutes the two stood silently gazing into the North.  At their feet spread the broad plain where Mukoki had killed the caribou while they watched him from the plateau; beyond that were the dense stretches of forest, broken here and there by other plains and meadows, and a dozen lakes glistened in the red tints of the setting sun.  When Rod first looked upon that country a few months before it was a world of ice and snow, a cold, dazzling panorama of white that reached from where he stood to the Pole.  Now it was wakening under the first magic touch of spring.  Far away the two young gold hunters caught a glimmer of the stream which they were to follow up to the chasm.  Last winter it had been a tiny creek; now it was swollen to the size of a river.

Suddenly, as they looked, two dark objects came slowly out into an opening a mile away.  At that distance they appeared hardly larger than dogs, and Rod, whose mind was still filled with thoughts of Wolf, exclaimed “Wolves!”

In the same breath he caught himself, and added: 

“Moose!”

“A cow and her calf,” said Wabi.

“How do you know?” asked Rod.

“There; watch them now!” cried Wabi, catching his companion by the arm.  “The mother is ahead, and even from here I can see that she is pacing.  A moose never trots or gallops, like a deer, but paces, using both feet on a side at the same time.  Notice how the calf jumps about.  An old moose would never do that.”

“But both animals look to be about the same size,” replied Rod, still doubtful.

“It’s a two-year-old calf; almost as big as its mother.  In fact, it’s not really a calf, because it is too old; but so long as young moose stick to their mothers we call them calves up here.  I’ve known them to remain together for three years.”

“They’re coming this way!” whispered the white youth.

The moose had turned, heading for the base of the mountain upon which they stood.  Wabi drew his companion behind a big rock, from which both could look down without being seen.

“Be quiet!” he warned.  “They’re coming to feed on the sprouting poplar along the mountain side.  Just been over to the creek to get a drink.  We may have some fun!”

He wet a finger in his mouth and held it above his head, the forest pathfinder’s infallible method of telling how the wind blows.  No matter how slight the movement of the air may be, one side of the finger dries first, in an instant, and is warm, while the side that remains damp is cold, and in the lee, that side toward which the wind is blowing.