This time he went to bed with the others, and slept until early dawn.  The morning was one of those rare gifts of budding spring, warm and redolent with the sweetness of new life, and its beauty acted as a tonic on the three adventurers.  Their fears of the day before were gone, and with song and whistle and cheery voice they began the descent of the mountain.  Mukoki went on ahead of Rod and Wabigoon with his pack, and the two boys had not made more than two of the six miles in the portage across the plain when he met them again, returning for his second load.  By noon the canoe and its contents were safely at the creek, and the gold hunters halted until after dinner.  The little stream across which Rod had easily leaped without wetting his feet a few weeks before had swollen into a fair-sized river, and in places its searching waters had formed tiny lakes.  Unlike the Ombabika, sweeping down from its mountain heights, there was but little current here, a fact that immensely pleased Mukoki and his companions.

“We near mak’ cabin to-night,” said the old Indian.  “I take load to-night.”

During the two hours’ paddle up-stream Mukoki spoke but little, and as they approached nearer to their last winter’s thrilling fight with the Woongas, in which they had so nearly lost their lives, he ceased even to respond by nod or grunt to the conversation of his companions.  Once Wabigoon spoke again of Wolf, and for an instant the old Indian, who was in the bow, half turned to them, and for two strokes his paddle rested in mid air.  From the stern Wabi reached forward and poked Rod, and the white youth understood.  Next to Minnetaki and Wabigoon, and perhaps himself, he knew that the faithful pathfinder loved Wolf best, and that; he was filled with a little of that savage madness which came to him now and then when he dwelt on the terrible tragedy that had entered his life many years before.  When the hunters reached the end of their canoe journey up the stream Mukoki silently shouldered his pack and set out over the plain.  He spoke no word, made no sign.

“It would be useless,” said Wabigoon, as Rod made a movement as if to follow and stop their comrade.  “No persuasion could turn Mukoki now.  He wants to reach the old camp to-night, where Wolf disappeared.  He won’t be back until morning.”

And Mukoki went on, never for an instant turning his face, until his companions lost sight of him.  But once out of their vision his, manner took on a strange and sudden change.  He lowered the head strap of his pack over his breast, so that he might clutch at it with one hand, and move his head freely.  His eyes glowed with the dull fire of wakening excitement; his steps were quick, and yet cautious, every movement in his advance was one of listening and watchful expectancy.  A person watching the old warrior would have said that he was keenly on the alert for game, or danger.  And yet the safety of his rifle was locked, a fresh