Rod made the most of the six days which were allotted to him at the Post, and while Wabi helped to handle the affairs of the Company’s store during a short absence of his father at Port Arthur, the lovely little Minnetaki gave our hero his first lessons in woodcraft.  In canoe, with the rifle, and in reading the signs of forest life Wabi’s sister awakened constantly increasing admiration in Rod.  To see her bending over some freshly made trail, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling with excitement, her rich hair filled with the warmth of the sun, was a picture to arouse enthusiasm even in the heart of a youngster of eighteen, and a hundred times the boy mentally vowed that “she was a brick” from the tips of her pretty moccasined feet to the top of her prettier head.  Half a dozen times at least he voiced this sentiment to Wabi, and Wabi agreed with great enthusiasm.  In fact, by the time the week was almost gone Minnetaki and Rod had become great chums, and it was not without some feeling of regret that the young wolf hunter greeted the dawn of the day that was to see them begin their journey deeper into the wilds.

Minnetaki was one of the earliest risers at the Post.  Rod was seldom behind her.  But on this particular morning he was late and heard the girl whistling outside half an hour before he was dressed—­for Minnetaki could whistle in a manner that often filled him with envy.  By the time he came down she had disappeared in the edge of the forest, and Wabi, who was also ahead of him, was busy with Mukoki tying up their equipment in packs.  It was a glorious morning, clear and frosty, and Rod noticed that a thin shell of ice had formed on the lake during the night.  Once or twice Wabi turned toward the forest and gave his signal whoop, but received no reply.

“I don’t see why Minnetaki doesn’t come back,” he remarked carelessly, as he fastened a shoulder-strap about a bundle.  “Breakfast will be ready in a jiffy.  Hunt her up, will you, Rod?”

Nothing loath, Rod started out on a brisk run along the path which he knew to be a favorite with Minnetaki and shortly it brought him down to a pebbly stretch of the beach where she frequently left her canoe.  That she had been here a few minutes before he could tell by the fact that the ice about the birch-bark was broken, as though the girl had tested its thickness by shoving the light craft out into it for a few feet.  Her footsteps led plainly up the shelving shore and into the forest.

“O Minnetaki—­Minnetaki!”

Rod called loudly and listened.  There was no response.  As if impelled by some presentiment which he himself could not explain, the boy hurried deeper into the forest along the narrow path which Minnetaki must have taken.  Five minutes—­ten minutes—­and he called again.  Still there was no answer.  Possibly the girl had not gone so far, or she might have left the path for the thick woods.  A little farther on there was a soft spot in the path where a great tree-trunk had rotted