Mukoki’s knife was in his hand by the time he reached Wabi, and with one or two slashes he had released his hands.

“You hurt—­bad?” he asked.

“No—­no!” replied Wabi.  “I knew you’d come, boys—­dear old friends!”

As he spoke he turned to the fallen leader and Rod saw him take possession of the rifle and revolver which he had lost in their fight with the Woongas weeks before.  Mukoki had already spied their precious pack of furs on one of the outlaw’s backs, and he flung it over his own.

“You saw the camp?” queried Wabi excitedly.

“Yes.”

“They will be upon us in a minute!  Which way, Mukoki?”

“The chasm!” half shouted Rod.  “The chasm!  If we can reach the chasm—­”

“The chasm!” reiterated Wabigoon.

Mukoki had fallen behind and motioned for Wabi and Rod to take the lead.  Even now he was determined to take the brunt of danger by bringing up the rear.

There was no time for argument and Wabigoon set off at a rapid pace.  From behind there came the click of shells as the Indian loaded his rifle on the run.  While the other two had been busy at the scene of the ambush Rod had replaced his empty shell, and now, as he led, Wabi examined the armament that had been stolen from them by the outlaws.

“How many shells have you got, Rod?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Forty-nine.”

“There’s only four left in this belt besides five in the gun,” called back the Indian youth.  “Give me—­some.”

Without halting Rod plucked a dozen cartridges from his belt and passed them on.

Now they had reached the hill.  At its summit they paused to recover their breath and take a look at the camp.

The fires were deserted.  A quarter of a mile out on the plain they saw half a dozen of their pursuers speeding toward the hill.  The rest were already concealed in the nearer thickets of the bottom.

“We must beat them to the chasm!” said the young Indian.

As he spoke Wabi turned and led the way again.

Rod’s heart fell like a lump within him.  We must beat them to the chasm!  Those words of Wabi’s brought him to the terrible realization that his own powers of endurance were rapidly ebbing.  His race behind Mukoki to the burning cabin had seemed to rob the life from the muscles of his limbs, and each step now added to his weakness.  And the chasm was a mile beyond the dip, and the entrance into that chasm still two miles farther.  Three miles!  Could he hold out?

He heard Mukoki thumping along behind him; ahead of him Wabi was unconsciously widening the distance between them.  He made a powerful effort to close the breach, but it was futile.  Then from close in his rear there came a warning halloo from the old Indian, and Wabi turned.

“He run t’ree mile to burning cabin,” said Mukoki.  “He no make chasm!”

Rod was deathly white and breathing so hard that he could not speak.  The quick-witted Wabi at once realized their situation.