Only three of the eight Woongas remained and they had turned and were running toward the shelter of the cedars.

“Hurrah!” shouted Rod.

In his excitement he got upon his feet and sent his fifth and last shot after the fleeing outlaws.  “Hurrah!  Wow!  Let’s go after ’em!”

“Get down!” commanded Wabi.  “Load in a hurry!”

Clink—­clink—­clink sounded the new shells as Mukoki and Wabigoon thrust them into their magazines.  Five seconds more and they were sending a terrific fusillade of shots into the edge of the cedars—­ten in all—­and by the time he had reloaded his own gun Rod could see nothing to shoot at.

“That will hold them for a while,” spoke Wabi.  “Most of them came in too big a hurry, and without their snow-shoes, Muky.  We’ll beat them to the chasm—­easy!” He put an arm around the shoulders of the old Indian, who was still lying upon his face in the snow.  “Let me see, Muky—­let me see—­”

“Chasm first,” replied Mukoki.  “She no bad.  No hit bone.  No bleed—­much.”

From behind Rod could see that Mukoki’s coat was showing a growing blotch of red.

“Are you sure—­you can reach the chasm?”

“Yes.”

In proof of his assertion the wounded Indian rose to his feet and approached the pack of furs.  Wabi was ahead of him, and placed it upon his own shoulders.

“You and Rod lead the way,” he said.  “You two know where to find the opening into the chasm.  I’ve never been there.”

Mukoki started down the hill, and Rod, close behind, could hear him breathing heavily; there was no longer fear for himself in his soul, but for that grim faithful warrior ahead, who would die in his tracks without a murmur and with a smile of triumph and fearlessness on his lips.

CHAPTER XV

RODERICK HOLDS THE WOONGAS AT BAY

They traveled more slowly now and Rod found his strength returning.  When they reached the second ridge he took Mukoki by the arm and assisted him up, and the old Indian made no demur.  This spoke more strongly of his hurt than words.  There was still no sign of their enemies behind.  From the top of the second ridge they could look back upon a quarter of a mile of the valley below, and it was here that Rod suggested that he remain on watch for a few minutes while Wabigoon went on with Mukoki.  The young hunters could see that the Indian was becoming weaker at every step, and Mukoki could no longer conceal this weakness in spite of the tremendous efforts he made to appear natural.

“I believe it is bad,” whispered Wabi to Rod, his face strangely white.  “I believe it is worse than we think.  He is bleeding hard.  Your idea is a good one.  Watch here, and if the Woongas show up in the valley open fire on them.  I’ll leave you my gun, too, so they’ll think we are going to give them another fight.  That will keep them back for a time.  I’m going to stop Muky up here a little way and dress his wound.  He will bleed to death if I don’t.”