“Then you believe we are far enough away from the Woongas?” asked Rod.

Mukoki grunted.

“No believe Woongas come over mountain.  Heap good game country back there.  They stay.”

During the meal the white boy asked a hundred questions about the vast wilderness which lay stretched out before them in a great panorama, and in which they were soon to bury themselves, and every answer added to his enthusiasm.  Immediately after they had finished eating Rod expressed a desire to begin his study in snow-shoeing, and for an hour after that Wabi and Mukoki piloted him back and forth along the ridge, instructing him in this and in that, applauding when he made an especially good dash and enjoying themselves immensely when he took one of his frequent tumbles into the snow.  By noon Rod secretly believed that he was becoming quite an adept.

Although the day in camp was an exceedingly pleasant one for Rod, he could not but observe that at times something seemed to be troubling Wabi.  Twice he discovered the Indian youth alone within the shelter sitting in silent and morose dejection, and finally he insisted upon an explanation.

“I want you to tell me what the trouble is, Wabi,” he demanded.  “What has gone wrong?”

Wabi jumped to his feet with a little laugh.

“Did you ever have a dream that bothered you, Rod?” he asked.  “Well, I had one last night, and since then—­somehow—­I can’t keep from worrying about the people back at the Post, and especially about Minnetaki.  It’s all—­what do you call it—­bosh?  Listen!  Wasn’t that Mukoki’s whistle?”

As he paused Mukoki came running around the end of the rock.

“See fun!” he cried softly.  “Quick—­see heem quick!”

He turned and darted toward the precipitous edge of the ridge, closely followed by the two boys.

“Cari-boo-oo!” he whispered excitedly as they came up beside him.  “Cari-boo-oo—­making big play!”

He pointed down into the snowy wilderness.  Three-quarters of a mile away, though to Rod apparently not more than a third of that distance from where they stood, half a dozen animals were disporting themselves in a singular fashion in a meadow-like opening between the mountain and a range of forest.  It was Rod’s first real glimpse of that wonderful animal of the North of which he had read so much, the caribou—­commonly known beyond the Sixtieth Degree as the reindeer; and at this moment those below him were indulging in the queer play known in the Hudson Bay regions as the “caribou dance.”

“What’s the matter with them?” he asked, his voice quivering with excitement.  “What—­”

“Making big fun!” chuckled Mukoki, drawing the boy closer to the rock that concealed them.

Wabi had thrust a finger in his mouth and now held it above his head, the Indian’s truest guide for discovering the direction of the wind.  The lee side of his finger remained cold and damp, while that side upon which the breeze fell was quickly dried.