His eyes became blurred and his heart grew cold as he thought of what might have happened to her.  A vision of the girl swept between him and Wabi’s face, in which the glow of life was growing warmer and warmer, a vision of the little half-Indian maiden as he had first seen her, when she came out to meet them in her canoe from Wabinosh House, the sun shining on her dark hair, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes and teeth sparkling in glad welcome to her beloved brother and the white youth of whom she had heard so much—­the boy from civilization—­Roderick Drew.  He remembered how his cap had blown off into the water, how she had rescued it for him.  In a flash all that passed after that came before him like a picture; the days that he and Minnetaki had rambled together in the forest, the furious battle in which, single-handed, he had saved her from those fierce outlaw Indians of the North, the Woongas; and after that he thought of the weeks of thrilling adventure they three—­Mukoki, Wabigoon and himself—­had spent in the wilderness far from the Hudson Bay Post, of their months of trapping, their desperate war with the Woongas, the discovery of the century-old cabin and its ancient skeletons, and their finding of the birch-bark map between the bones of one of the skeleton’s fingers, on which, dimmed by age, was drawn the trail to a land of gold.

Instinctively, as for an instant this map came into his mental picture, he thrust a hand into one of his inside pockets to feel that his own copy of that map was there, the map which was to have brought him back into this wilderness a few weeks hence, when they three would set out on the romantic quest for the gold to which the skeletons in the old cabin had given them the key.

The vision left him as he saw a convulsive shudder pass through Wabigoon.  In another moment the Indian youth had opened his eyes, and as he looked up into Rod’s eager face he smiled feebly.  He tried to speak, but words failed him, and his eyes closed again.  There was a look of terror in Roderick’s face as he turned to the courier, who came to his side.  Less than twenty-four hours before he had left Wabigoon in the full strength of his splendid youth at Wabinosh House, a lithe young giant, hardened by their months of adventure, quivering with buoyant life, anxious for the spring that they might meet again to take up another trail into the unexplored North.

And now what a change!  The glimpse he had caught of Wabi’s bloodshot eyes, the terrible thinness of the Indian youth’s face, the chilling lifelessness of his hands, made him shiver with dread.  Was it possible that a few short hours could bring about that remarkable transformation?  And where was Mukoki, the faithful old warrior from whose guardianship Wabigoon and Minnetaki were seldom allowed to escape?

It seemed an hour before Wabi opened his eyes again, and yet it was only a few minutes.  This time Rod lifted him gently in his arms and the courier placed a cup of the hot soup to his lips.  The warmth of the liquid put new life into the famished Indian youth.  He drank slowly of it at first, then eagerly, and when he had finished the cup he made an effort to sit up.