The two came back to the rock, dragging the wolf with them.  Mukoki was standing as rigid as a statue in the moonlight, his face turned into the north.  He pointed one arm far out over the plains, and said, without turning his head,

“See!”

Far out in that silent desolation the hunters saw a lurid flash of flame.  It climbed up and up, until it filled the night above it with a dull glow—­a single unbroken stream of fire that rose far above the swamps and forests of the plains.

“That’s a burning jackpine!” said Wabigoon.

“Burning jackpine!” agreed the old warrior.  Then he added, “Woonga signal fire!”

CHAPTER X

RODERICK EXPLORES THE CHASM

To Rod the blazing pine seemed to be but a short distance away—­a mile, perhaps a little more.  In the silence of the two Indians as they contemplated the strange fire he read an ominous meaning.  In Mukoki’s eyes was a dull sullen glare, not unlike that which fills the orbs of a wild beast in a moment of deadly anger.  Wabi’s face was filled with an eager flush, and three times, Rod observed, he turned eyes strangely burning with some unnatural passion upon Mukoki.

Slowly, even as the instincts of his race had aroused the latent, brutish love of slaughter and the chase in the tamed wolf, the long smothered instincts of these human children of the forest began to betray themselves in their bronzed countenances.  Rod watched, and he was thrilled to the soul.  Back at the old cabin they had declared war upon the Woongas.  Both Mukoki and Wabigoon had slipped the leashes that had long restrained them from meting first vengeance upon their enemies.  Now the opportunity had come.  For five minutes the great pine blazed, and then died away until it was only a smoldering tower of light.  Still Mukoki gazed, speechless and grim, out into the distance of the night.  At last Wabi broke the silence.

“How far away is it, Muky?”

“T’ree mile,” answered the old warrior without hesitation.

“We could make it in forty minutes.”

“Yes.”

Wabi turned to Rod.

“You can find your way back to camp alone, can’t you?” he asked.

“Not if you’re going over there!” declared the white boy.  “I’m going with you.”

Mukoki broke in upon them with a harsh disappointed laugh.

“No go.  No go over there.”  He spoke with emphasis, and shook his head.  “We lose pine in five minutes.  No find Woonga camp—­make big trail for Woongas to see in morning.  Better wait.  Follow um trail in day, then shoot!”

Rod found immense relief in the old Indian’s decision.  He did not fear a fight; in fact, he was a little too anxious to meet the outlaws who had stolen his gun, now that they had determined upon opening fire on sight.  But in this instance he was possessed of the cooler judgment of his race.  He believed that as yet the Woongas were not aware of their presence in this region, and that there was still a large possibility of the renegades traveling northward beyond their trapping sphere.  He hoped that this would be the case, in spite of his desire to recapture his gun.  A scrimmage with the Woongas just now would spoil the plans he had made for discovering gold.