For only a few minutes at a time could he stand the dazzling reflections of the snow-waste where nothing but white, flashing, scintillating white, seemingly a vast sea of burning electric points in the sunlight, met his aching eyes.  On the second day after the storm, while Wabi was still inuring Rod to the changed world and teaching him how to accustom his eyes to it gradually, Mukoki left the cabin to follow the chasm in his search for the first waterfall.

That same day Wabi began his work of digging out and resetting the traps, but it was not until the day following that Rod’s eyes would allow him to assist.  The task was a most difficult one; rocks and other landmarks were completely hidden, and the lost traps averaged one out of four.  It was not until the end of the second day after Mukoki’s departure that the young hunters finished the mountain trap-line, and when they turned their faces toward camp just at the beginning of dusk it was with the expectant hope that they would find the old Indian awaiting them.  But Mukoki had not returned.  The next day came and passed, and a fourth dawned without his arrival.  Hope now gave way to fear.  In three days Mukoki could travel nearly a hundred miles.  Was it possible that something had happened to him?  Many times there recurred to Rod a thought of the Woonga in the chasm.  Had the mysterious spy, or some of his people, waylaid and killed him?

Neither of the hunters had a desire to leave camp during the fourth day.  Trapping was exceptionally good now on account of the scarcity of animal food and since the big storm they had captured a wolf, two lynx, a red fox and eight mink.  But as Mukoki’s absence lengthened their enthusiasm grew less.

In the afternoon, as they were watching, they saw a figure climb wearily to the summit of the hill.

It was Mukoki.

With shouts of greeting both youths hurried through the snow toward him, not taking time to strap on their snow-shoes.  The old Indian was at their side a couple of minutes later.  He smiled in a tired good-natured way, and answered the eagerness in their eyes with a nod of his head.

“Found fall.  Fift’ mile down mountain.”

Once in the cabin he dropped into a chair, exhausted, and both Rod and Wabigoon joined in relieving him of his boots and outer garments.  It was evident that Mukoki had been traveling hard, for only once or twice before in his life had Wabi seen him so completely fatigued.  Quickly the young Indian had a huge steak broiling over the fire, and Rod put an extra handful of coffee in the pot.

“Fifty miles!” ejaculated Wabi for the twentieth time.  “It was an awful jaunt, wasn’t it, Muky?”

“Rough—­rough like devil th’ough mountains,” replied Mukoki.  “Not like that!” He swung an arm in the direction of the chasm.

Rod stood silent, open-eyed with wonder.  Was it possible that the old warrior had discovered a wilder country than that through which he had passed in the chasm?