“We must be somewhere near the Kenogami trail,” Wabi remarked to Mukoki. “We may have passed it.”
“No pass it,” replied Mukoki. “She off there.” He pointed to the south.
“You see the Kenogami trail is a sled trail leading from the little town of Nipigon, on the railroad, to Kenogami House, which is a Hudson Bay Post at the upper end of Long Lake,” explained Wabi to his white companion. “The factor of Kenogami is a great friend of ours and we have visited back and forth often, but I’ve been over the Kenogami trail only once. Mukoki has traveled it many times.”
Several rabbits were killed before dinner. No other hunting was done during the afternoon, most of which was passed in sleep by the exhausted adventurers. When Rod awoke he found that it had stopped snowing and was nearly dark.
Mukoki’s wound was beginning to trouble him again, and it was decided that at least a part of the next day should be passed in camp, and that both Rod and Wabigoon should make an effort to kill some animal that would furnish them with the proper kind of oil to dress it with, the fat of almost any species of animal except mink or rabbit being valuable for this purpose. With dawn the two started out, while Mukoki, much against his will, was induced to remain in camp. A short distance away the hunters separated, Rod striking to the eastward and Wabi into the south.
For an hour Roderick continued without seeing game, though there were plenty of signs of deer and caribou about him. At last he determined to strike for a ridge a mile to the south, from the top of which he was more likely to get a shot than in the thick growth of the plains. He had not traversed more than a half of the distance when much to his surprise he came upon a well-beaten trail running slightly diagonally with his own, almost due north. Two dog-teams had passed since yesterday’s storm, and on either side of the sleds were the snow-shoe trails of men. Rod saw that there were three of these, and at least a dozen dogs in the two teams. It at once occurred to him that this was the Kenogami trail, and impelled by nothing more than curiosity he began to follow it.
Half a mile farther on he found where the party had stopped to cook a meal. The remains of their camp-fire lay beside a huge log, which was partly burned away, and about it were scattered bones and bits of bread. But what most attracted Rod’s attention were other tracks which joined those of the three people on snow-shoes. He was sure that these tracks had been made by women, for the footprints made by one of them were unusually small. Close to the log he found a single impression in the snow that caused his heart to give a sudden unexpected thump within him. In this spot the snow had been packed by one of the snow-shoes, and in this comparatively hard surface the footprint was clearly defined. It had been made by a moccasin. Rod knew that. And the moccasin wore a slight heel! He remembered,