Thick shadows still defied his vision when he began retracing his steps over the trail he had made the day before.  He returned with the same caution that he had used in his advance.  Even more carefully, if possible, did he scrutinize the rocks and the creek ahead.  He had already found life in the chasm, and he might find more.

The full light of day came quickly now, and with it the youth’s progress became more rapid.  He figured that if he lost no time in further investigation of the creek he would arrive at camp by noon, and they would dig up the skeleton without delay.  There was little snow in the chasm, in spite of the lateness of the season, and if the roll of bark held the secret of the lost gold it would be possible for them to locate the treasure before other snows came to baffle them.

At the spot where he had killed the silver fox Rod paused for a moment.  He wondered if foxes ever traveled in pairs, and regretted that he had not asked Wabi or Mukoki that question.  He could see where the fox had come straight from the black wall of the mountain.  Curiosity led him over the trail.  He had not followed it more than two hundred yards when he stopped in sudden astonishment.  Plainly marked in the snow before him was the trail of a pair of snow-shoes!  Whoever had been there had passed since he shot the fox, for the imprints of the animal’s feet were buried under those of the snow-shoes.

Who was the other person in the chasm?

Was it Wabi?

Had Mukoki or he come to join him?  Or—­

He looked again at the snow-shoe trail.  It was a peculiar trail, unlike the one made by his own shoes.  The imprints were a foot longer than his own, and narrower.  Neither Wabi nor Mukoki wore shoes that would make that trail!

At this point the strange trail had turned and disappeared among the rocks along the wall of the mountain, and it occurred to Rod that perhaps the stranger had not discovered his presence in the chasm.  There was some consolation in this thought, but it was doomed to quick disappointment.  Very cautiously the youth advanced, his rifle held in readiness and his eyes searching every place of concealment ahead of him.  A hundred yards farther on the stranger had stopped, and from the way in which the snow was packed Rod knew that he had stood in a listening and watchful attitude for some time.  From this point the trail took another turn and came down until, from behind a huge rock, the stranger had cautiously peered out upon the path made by the white youth.

It was evident that he was extremely anxious to prevent the discovery of his own trail, for now the mysterious spy threaded his way behind rocks until he had again come to the shelter of the mountain wall.

Rod was perplexed.  He realized the peril of his dilemma, and yet he knew not what course to take to evade it.  He had little doubt that the trail was made by one of the treacherous Woongas, and that the Indian not only knew of his presence, but was somewhere in the rocks ahead of him, perhaps even now waiting behind some ambuscade to shoot him.  Should he follow the trail, or would it be safer to steal along among the rocks of the opposite wall of the chasm?