CHAPTER VI

MUKOKI DISTURBS THE ANCIENT SKELETONS

Completely exhausted, every muscle in his aching body still seeming to strain with exertion, the night was one of restless and uncomfortable dreams for Roderick Drew.  While Wabi and the old Indian, veterans in wilderness hardship, slept in peace and tranquillity, the city boy found himself in the most unusual and thrilling situations from which he would extricate himself with a grunt or sharp cry, several times sitting bolt upright in his bed of balsam until he realized where he was, and that his adventures were only those of dreamland.

From one of these dreams Rod had aroused himself into drowsy wakefulness.  He fancied that he had heard steps.  For the tenth time he raised himself upon an elbow, stretched, rubbed his eyes, glanced at the dark, inanimate forms of his sleeping companions, and snuggled down into his balsam boughs again.  A few moments later he sat bolt upright.  He could have sworn that he heard real steps this time—­a soft cautious crunching in the snow very near his head.  Breathlessly he listened.  Not a sound broke the silence except the snapping of a dying ember in the fire.  Another dream!  Once more he settled back, drawing his blanket closely about him.  Then, for a full breath, the very beating of his heart seemed to cease.

What was that!

He was awake now, wide awake, with every faculty in him striving to arrange itself.  He had heard—­a step!  Slowly, very cautiously this time, he raised himself.  There came distinctly to his ears a light crunching in the snow.  It seemed back of the shelter—­then was moving away, then stopped.  The flickering light of the dying fire still played on the face of the great rock.  Suddenly, at the very end of that rock, something moved.

Some object was creeping cautiously upon the sleeping camp!

For a moment his thrilling discovery froze the young hunter into inaction.  But in a moment the whole situation flashed upon him.  The Woongas had followed them!  They were about to fall upon the helpless camp!  Unexpectedly one of his hands came in contact with the barrel of Wabi’s rifle.  The touch of the cold steel aroused him.  There was no time to awaken his companions.  Even as he drew the gun to him he saw the object grow larger and larger at the end of the rock, until it stood crouching, as if about to spring.

One bated breath—­a thunderous report—­a snarling scream of pain, and the camp was awake!

“We’re attacked!” cried Rod.  “Quick—­Wabi—­Mukoki!”

The white boy was on his knees now, the smoking rifle still leveled toward the rocks.  Out there, in the thick shadows beyond the fire, a body was groveling and kicking in death agonies.  In another instant the gaunt form of the old warrior was beside Rod, his rifle at his shoulder, and over their heads reached Wabigoon’s arm, the barrel of his heavy revolver glinting in the firelight.