Wabi’s bronzed face flushed a deeper red at his friend’s enthusiasm.

“I won’t promise—­for sure,” he said.  “But I’d like to see her—­almost as much as you, I guess.  If I can, I’ll go.”

Rod’s face was suffused with a joyful glow.

“And I’ll come back with you early in the summer and we’ll start out for the gold,” he cried.  He jumped to his feet and slapped Mukoki on the back in the happy turn his mind had taken.  “Will you come, too, Mukoki?  I’ll give you the biggest ‘city time’ you ever had in your life!”

The old Indian grinned and chuckled and grunted, but did not reply in words.  Wabi laughed, and answered for him.

“He is too anxious to become Minnetaki’s slave again, Rod.  No, Muky won’t go, I’ll wager that.  He will stay at the Post to see that she doesn’t get lost, or hurt, or stolen by the Woongas.  Eh, Mukoki?” Mukoki nodded, grinning good-humoredly.  He went to the door, opened it and looked out.

“Devil—­she snow!” he cried.  “She snow like twent’ t’ousand—­like devil!”

This was the strongest English in the old warrior’s vocabulary, and it meant something more than usual.  Wabi and Rod quickly joined him.  Never in his life had the city youth seen a snow-storm like that which he now gazed out into.  The great north storm had arrived—­a storm which comes just once each year in the endless Arctic desolation.  For days and weeks the Indians had expected it and wondered at its lateness.  It fell softly, silently, without a breath of air to stir it; a smothering, voiceless sea of white, impenetrable to human vision, so thick that it seemed as though it might stifle one’s breath.  Rod held out the palm of his hand and in an instant it was covered with a film of white.  He walked out into it, and a dozen yards away he became a ghostly, almost invisible shadow.

When he came back a minute later he brought a load of snow into the cabin with him.

All that afternoon the snow fell like this, and all that night the storm continued.  When he awoke in the morning Rod heard the wind whistling and howling through the trees and around the ends of the cabin.  He rose and built the fire while the others were still sleeping.  He attempted to open the door, but it was blocked.  He lowered the barricade at the window, and a barrel of snow tumbled in about his feet.  He could see no sign of day, and when he turned he saw Wabi sitting up in his blankets, laughing silently at his wonder and consternation.

“What in the world—­” he gasped.

“We’re snowed in,” grinned Wabi.  “Does the stove smoke?”

“No,” replied Rod, throwing a bewildered glance at the roaring fire.  “You don’t mean to say—­”

“Then we are not completely, buried,” interrupted the other.  “At least the top of the chimney is sticking out!”

Mukoki sat up and stretched himself.

“She blow,” he said, as a tremendous howl of wind swept over the cabin.  “Bime-by she blow some more!”