But it was not of these things that he thought just now.  It was of the reason for the feud, and something rose in his throat and choked him until he made no effort to speak.  Many years before, George Newsome, a young Englishman, had come to Wabinosh House, and there he had met and fallen in love with a beautiful Indian princess, who loved him in turn, and became his wife.  Woonga, chief of a warlike tribe, had been his rival, and when the white man won in the battle for love his fierce heart blazed with the fire of hatred and revenge.  From that day the relentless strife against the people of Wabinosh House began.  The followers of Woonga turned from trappers and hunters to murderers and outlaws, and became known all over that wilderness country as the Woongas.  For years the feud had continued.  Like a hawk Woonga watched his opportunities, killing here, robbing there, and always waiting a chance to rob the factor of his wife or children.  Only a few weeks before Rod had saved Minnetaki in that terrible struggle in the forest.  And now, more hopelessly than before, she had fallen into the clutches of her enemies, and alone with Woonga was being carried into the far North country, into those vast unexplored regions from which she would probably never return!

Rod turned to Wabi, his hands clenched, his eyes blazing.

“I can find the trail, Wabi!  I can find the trail—­and we’ll follow it to the North Pole if we have to!  We beat the Woongas in the chasm—­we’ll beat them now!  We’ll find Minnetaki if it takes us until doomsday!”

From far back in the forest there came the faint pistol-like cracks of a whip, the distant hallooing of a voice.

For a few moments the three stood listening.

The voice came again.

“It’s Mukoki,” said Wabigoon, “Mukoki and the other dogs!”

CHAPTER III

ON THE TRAIL OF THE WOONGAS

The cries came nearer, interspersed with the cracking of Mukoki’s whip as he urged on the few lagging dogs that Wabi had left with him upon the trail.  In another moment the old warrior and his team burst into view and both of the young hunters hurried to meet him.  A glance showed Rod that a little longer and Mukoki would have dropped in his tracks, as Wabi had done.  The two led their faithful comrade to the heap of bearskins on the mail sled and made him sit there while fresh soup was being made.

“You catch heem,” grinned Mukoki joyously.  “You catch heem—­queek!”

“And pretty nearly killed himself doing it, Muky,” added Rod.  “Now—­” he glanced from one to the other of his companions, “what is the first thing to be done?” “We must strike for the Woonga trail without a moment of unnecessary delay,” declared Wabi.  “Minutes are priceless, an hour lost or gained may mean everything!”

“But the dogs—­”

“You can take mine,” interrupted the courier.  “There are six of them, all good heavy fellows and not overly bushed.  You can add a few of your own and I’ll take what’s left to drive on the mail.  I would advise you to rest for an hour or so and give them and yourselves a good feed.  It’ll count in the long run.”