Mukoki’s advance now became slower and more cautious.  His keen eyes took in every tree and clump of bushes ahead.  Only when he could see the trail leading straight away for a considerable distance did he hasten the pursuit.  Never for an instant did he turn his head to Rod.  But suddenly he caught sight of something that brought from him a guttural sound of astonishment.  A fifth track had joined the trail!  Without questioning Rod knew what it meant.  Wabi had been lowered from the back of his captor and was now walking.  He was on snow-shoes and his strides were quite even and of equal length with the others.  Evidently he was not badly wounded.

Half a mile ahead of them was a high hill and between them and this hill was a dense growth of cedar, filled with tangled windfalls.  It was an ideal place for an ambush, but the old warrior did not hesitate.  The Woongas had followed a moose trail, with which they were apparently well acquainted, and in this traveling was easy.  But Rod gave an involuntary shudder as he gazed ahead into the chaotic tangle through which it led.  At any moment he expected to hear the sharp crack of a rifle and to see Mukoki tumble forward upon his face.  Or there might be a fusillade of shots and he himself might feel the burning sting that comes with rifle death.  At the distance from which they would shoot the outlaws could not miss.  Did not Mukoki realize this?  Maddened by the thought that his beloved Wabi was in the hands of merciless enemies, was the old pathfinder becoming reckless?

But when he looked into his companion’s face and saw the cool deadly resolution glittering in his eyes, the youth’s confidence was restored.  For some reason Mukoki knew that there would not be an ambush.

Over the moose-run the two traveled more swiftly and soon they came to the foot of the high hill.  Up this the Woongas had gone, their trail clearly defined and unswerving in its direction.  Mukoki now paused with a warning gesture to Rod, and pointed down at one of the snow-shoe tracks.  The snow was still crumbling and falling about the edges of this imprint.

“Ver’ close!” whispered the Indian.

It was not the light of the game hunt in Mukoki’s eyes now; there was a trembling, terrible tenseness in his whispered words.  He crept up the hill with Rod so near that he could have touched him.  At the summit of that hill he dragged himself up like an animal, and then, crouching, ran swiftly to the opposite side, his rifle within six inches of his shoulder.  In the plain below them was unfolded to their eyes a scene which, despite his companion’s warning, wrung an exclamation of dismay from Roderick’s lips.

[Illustration:  The leader stopped in his snow-shoes]

Plainly visible to them in the edge of the plain were the outlaw Woongas and their captive.  They were in single file, with Wabi following the leader, and the hunters perceived that their comrade’s arms were tied behind him.