“And that they buried the bulk of their gold somewhere back near the third fall?”

“Yes; or else they brought the gold here and buried it somewhere near this very cabin!”

They were interrupted by Mukoki.

“Dinner ready!” he called.

CHAPTER XIII

SNOWED IN

Until the present moment Rod had forgotten to speak of the mysterious man-trail he had encountered in the chasm.  The excitement of the past hour had made him oblivious to all other things, but now as they ate their dinner he described the strange maneuvers of the spying Woonga.  He did not, however, voice those fears which had come to him in the gorge, preferring to allow Mukoki and Wabigoon to draw their own conclusions.  By this time the two Indians were satisfied that the Woongas were not contemplating attack, but that for some unaccountable reason they were as anxious to evade the hunters as the hunters were to evade them.  Everything that had passed seemed to give evidence of this.  The outlaw in the chasm, for instance, could easily have waylaid Rod; a dozen times the almost defenseless camp could have been attacked, and there were innumerable places where ambushes might have been laid for them along the trap-lines.

So Rod’s experience with the Woonga trail between the mountains occasioned little uneasiness, and instead of forming a scheme for the further investigation of this trail on the south, plans were made for locating the first fall.  Mukoki was the swiftest and most tireless traveler on snow-shoes, and it was he who volunteered to make the first search.  He would leave the following morning, taking with him a supply of food, and during his absence Rod and Wabigoon would attend to the traps.

“We must have the location of the first fall before we return to the Post,” declared Wabi.  “If from that we find that the third fall is not within a hundred miles of our present camp it will be impossible for us to go in search of our gold during this trip.  In that event we shall have to go back to Wabinosh House and form a new expedition, with fresh supplies and the proper kind of tools.  We can not do anything until the spring freshets are over, anyway.”

“I have been thinking of that,” replied Rod, his eyes softening.  “You know mother is alone, and—­her—­”

“I understand,” interrupted the Indian boy, laying a hand fondly across his companion’s arm.

“—­her funds are small, you know,” Rod finished.  “If she has been sick—­or—­anything like that—­”

“Yes, we’ve got to get back with our furs,” helped Wabi, a tremor of tenderness in his own voice.  “And if you don’t mind, Rod, I might take a little run down to Detroit with you.  Do you suppose she would care?”

“Care!” shouted Rod, bringing his free hand down upon Wabi’s arm with a force that hurt.  “Care!  Why, she thinks as much of you as she does of me, Wabi!  She’d be tickled to death!  Do you mean it?”