The Tales of the Wild North (39 Novels & Stories in One Volume). James Oliver Curwood
it with his belt-ax. Still a seventh had run for a dozen rods, leaving a crimson trail behind, and when Wabi and Rod came up to it the animal was convulsed in its last dying struggles.
"Seven!" exclaimed the Indian youth. "That is one of the best shoots we ever had. A hundred and five dollars in a night isn't bad, is it?"
The two came back to the rock, dragging the wolf with them. Mukoki was standing as rigid as a statue in the moonlight, his face turned into the north. He pointed one arm far out over the plains, and said, without turning his head,
"See!"
Far out in that silent desolation the hunters saw a lurid flash of flame. It climbed up and up, until it filled the night above it with a dull glow—a single unbroken stream of fire that rose far above the swamps and forests of the plains.
"That's a burning jackpine!" said Wabigoon.
"Burning jackpine!" agreed the old warrior. Then he added, "Woonga signal fire!"
CHAPTER X
RODERICK EXPLORES THE CHASM
To Rod the blazing pine seemed to be but a short distance away—a mile, perhaps a little more. In the silence of the two Indians as they contemplated the strange fire he read an ominous meaning. In Mukoki's eyes was a dull sullen glare, not unlike that which fills the orbs of a wild beast in a moment of deadly anger. Wabi's face was filled with an eager flush, and three times, Rod observed, he turned eyes strangely burning with some unnatural passion upon Mukoki.
Slowly, even as the instincts of his race had aroused the latent, brutish love of slaughter and the chase in the tamed wolf, the long smothered instincts of these human children of the forest began to betray themselves in their bronzed countenances. Rod watched, and he was thrilled to the soul. Back at the old cabin they had declared war upon the Woongas. Both Mukoki and Wabigoon had slipped the leashes that had long restrained them from meting first vengeance upon their enemies. Now the opportunity had come. For five minutes the great pine blazed, and then died away until it was only a smoldering tower of light. Still Mukoki gazed, speechless and grim, out into the distance of the night. At last Wabi broke the silence.
"How far away is it, Muky?"
"T'ree mile," answered the old warrior without hesitation.
"We could make it in forty minutes."
"Yes."
Wabi turned to Rod.
"You can find your way back to camp alone, can't you?" he asked.
"Not if you're going over there!" declared the white boy. "I'm going with you."
Mukoki broke in upon them with a harsh disappointed laugh.
"No go. No go over there." He spoke with emphasis, and shook his head. "We lose pine in five minutes. No find Woonga camp—make big trail for Woongas to see in morning. Better wait. Follow um trail in day, then shoot!"
Rod found immense relief in the old Indian's decision. He did not fear a fight; in fact, he was a little too anxious to meet the outlaws who had stolen his gun, now that they had determined upon opening fire on sight. But in this instance he was possessed of the cooler judgment of his race. He believed that as yet the Woongas were not aware of their presence in this region, and that there was still a large possibility of the renegades traveling northward beyond their trapping sphere. He hoped that this would be the case, in spite of his desire to recapture his gun. A scrimmage with the Woongas just now would spoil the plans he had made for discovering gold.
The "Skeleton Mine," as he had come to call it, now absorbed his thoughts beyond everything else. He felt confident that he would discover the lost treasure ground if given time, and he was just as confident that if war was once begun between themselves and the Woongas it would mean disaster or quick flight from the country. Even Wabi, worked up more in battle enthusiasm than by gold fever, conceded that if half of the Woongas were in this country they were much too powerful for them to cope with successfully, especially as one of them was without a rifle.
It was therefore with inward exultation that Rod saw the project of attack dropped and Mukoki and Wabigoon proceed with their short task of scalping the seven wolves. During this operation Wolf was allowed to feast upon the carcass of the buck.
That night there was but little sleep in the old cabin. It was two o'clock when the hunters arrived in camp and from that hour until nearly four they sat about the hot stove making plans for the day that was nearly at hand. Rod could but contrast the excitement that had now taken possession of them with the tranquil joy with which they had first taken up their abode in this dip in the hilltop. And how different were their plans from those of two or three days ago! Not one of them now but realized their peril. They were in an ideal hunting range, but it was evidently very near, if not actually in, the Woonga country. At any moment they might be forced to fight for their lives or abandon their camp, and perhaps they would be compelled to do both.
So the gathering about the stove was in reality a small council of war. It was decided that the old cabin should immediately be put into a condition of defense, with a loophole on each side, strong new bars at the door, and with a thick barricade near at hand that could be quickly fitted against the window in case of attack. Until the war-clouds cleared away, if they cleared at all, the camp would be continually guarded by one of the hunters, and with this garrison would be left both of the heavy revolvers. At dawn or a little later Mukoki would set out upon Wabi's trap-line, both to become acquainted with it and to extend the line of traps, while later in the day the Indian youth would follow Mukoki's line, visiting the houses already built and setting other traps. This scheme left to Rod the first day's watch in camp.
Mukoki aroused himself from his short sleep with the first approach of dawn but did not awaken his tired companions until breakfast was ready. When the meal was finished he seized his gun and signified his intention of visiting the mink traps just beyond the hill before leaving on his long day's trail. Rod at once joined him, leaving Wabi to wash the dishes.
They were shortly within view of the trap-houses near the creek. Instinctively the eyes of both rested upon these houses and neither gave very close attention to the country ahead or about them. As a result both were exceedingly startled when they heard a huge snort and a great crunching in the deep snow close beside them. From out of a small growth of alders had dashed a big bull moose, who was now tearing with the speed of a horse up the hillside toward the hidden camp, evidently seeking the quick shelter of the dip.
"Wait heem git top of hill!" shouted Mukoki, swinging his rifle to his shoulder. "Wait!"
It was a beautiful shot and Rod was tempted to ignore the old Indian's advice. But he knew that there was some good reason for it, so he held his trembling finger. Hardly had the animal's huge antlered head risen to the sky-line when Mukoki shouted again, and the young hunter pressed the trigger of his automatic gun three times in rapid succession. It was a short shot, not more than two hundred yards, and Mukoki fired but once just as the bull mounted the hilltop.
The next instant the moose was gone and Rod was just about to dash in pursuit when his companion caught him by the arm.
"We got um!" he grinned. "He run downhill, then fall—ver' close to camp. Ver' good scheme—wait heem git on top hill. No have to carry meat far!"
As coolly as though nothing had occurred the Indian turned again in the direction of the traps. Rod stood as though he had been nailed to the spot, his mouth half open in astonishment.
"We go see traps," urged Mukoki. "Find moose dead when we go back."
But Roderick Drew, who had hunted nothing larger than house rats in his own city, was not the young man to see the logic of this reasoning, and before Mukoki could open his mouth again he was hurrying up the hill. On its summit he saw a huge torn-up blotch in the snow, spattered with blood, where the moose had fallen first after the shots; and at the foot of the hill, as the Indian had predicted, the great animal lay dead.
Wabi