Part 6 (1/2)
”Then you believe we are far enough away from the Woongas?” asked Rod.
Mukoki grunted.
”No believe Woongas come over mountain. Heap good game country back there. They stay.”
During the meal the white boy asked a hundred questions about the vast wilderness which lay stretched out before them in a great panorama, and in which they were soon to bury themselves, and every answer added to his enthusiasm. Immediately after they had finished eating Rod expressed a desire to begin his study in snow-shoeing, and for an hour after that Wabi and Mukoki piloted him back and forth along the ridge, instructing him in this and in that, applauding when he made an especially good dash and enjoying themselves immensely when he took one of his frequent tumbles into the snow. By noon Rod secretly believed that he was becoming quite an adept.
Although the day in camp was an exceedingly pleasant one for Rod, he could not but observe that at times something seemed to be troubling Wabi. Twice he discovered the Indian youth alone within the shelter sitting in silent and morose dejection, and finally he insisted upon an explanation.
”I want you to tell me what the trouble is, Wabi,” he demanded. ”What has gone wrong?”
Wabi jumped to his feet with a little laugh.
”Did you ever have a dream that bothered you, Rod?” he asked. ”Well, I had one last night, and since then--somehow--I can't keep from worrying about the people back at the Post, and especially about Minnetaki. It's all--what do you call it--bosh? Listen! Wasn't that Mukoki's whistle?”
As he paused Mukoki came running around the end of the rock.
”See fun!” he cried softly. ”Quick--see heem quick!”
He turned and darted toward the precipitous edge of the ridge, closely followed by the two boys.
”Cari-boo-oo!” he whispered excitedly as they came up beside him.
”Cari-boo-oo--making big play!”
He pointed down into the snowy wilderness. Three-quarters of a mile away, though to Rod apparently not more than a third of that distance from where they stood, half a dozen animals were disporting themselves in a singular fas.h.i.+on in a meadow-like opening between the mountain and a range of forest. It was Rod's first real glimpse of that wonderful animal of the North of which he had read so much, the caribou--commonly known beyond the Sixtieth Degree as the reindeer; and at this moment those below him were indulging in the queer play known in the Hudson Bay regions as the ”caribou dance.”
”What's the matter with them?” he asked, his voice quivering with excitement. ”What--”
”Making big fun!” chuckled Mukoki, drawing the boy closer to the rock that concealed them.
Wabi had thrust a finger in his mouth and now held it above his head, the Indian's truest guide for discovering the direction of the wind. The lee side of his finger remained cold and damp, while that side upon which the breeze fell was quickly dried.
”The wind is toward us, Muky,” he announced. ”There's a fine chance for a shot. You go! Rod and I will stay here and watch you.”
Roderick heard--knew that Mukoki was creeping back to the camp for his rifle, but not for an instant did his spellbound eyes leave the spectacle below him. Two other animals had joined those in the open. He could see the sun glistening on their long antlers as they tossed their heads in their amazing antics. Now three or four of them would dash away with the speed of the wind, as though the deadliest of enemies were close behind them. Two or three hundred yards away they would stop with equal suddenness, whirl about in a circle, as though flight were interrupted on all sides of them, then tear back with lightning speed to rejoin the herd. In twos and threes and fours they performed these evolutions again and again. But there was another antic that held Rod's eyes, and if it had not been so new and wonderful to him he would have laughed, as Wabi was doing--silently--behind him. From out of the herd would suddenly dash one of the agile creatures, whirl about, jump and kick, and finally bounce up and down on all four feet, as though performing a comedy sketch in pantomime for the amus.e.m.e.nt of its companions; and when this was done it would start out in another mad flight, with others of the herd at its heels.
”They are the funniest, swiftest, and shrewdest animals in the North,”
said Wabi. ”They can smell you over a mountain if the wind is right, and hear you for half a mile. Look!”
He pointed downward over Rod's shoulder. Mukoki had already reached the base of the ridge and was stealing straight out in the direction of the caribou. Rod gave a surprised gasp.
”Great Scott! They'll see him, won't they?” he cried.
”Not if Mukoki knows himself,” smiled the Indian youth. ”Remember that we are looking down on things. Everything seems clear and open to us, while in reality it's quite thick down there. I'll bet Muky can't see one hundred yards ahead of him. He has got his bearings and will go as straight as though he was on a blazed trail; but he won't see the caribou until he conies to the edge of the open.”
Each minute now added to Rod's excitement. Each of those minutes brought the old warrior nearer his game. Seldom, thought Rod, had such a scene been unfolded to the eyes of a white boy. The complete picture--the playful rompings of the dumb children of the wilderness; the stealthy approach of the old Indian; every rock, every tree that was to play its part--all were revealed to their eyes. Not a phase in this drama in wild life escaped them. Five minutes, ten, fifteen pa.s.sed. They could see Mukoki as he stopped and lifted a hand to test the wind. Then he crouched, advancing foot by foot, yard by yard, so slowly that he seemed to be on his hands and knees.
”He can hear them, but he can't see them!” breathed Wabigoon. ”See! He places his ear to the ground! Now he has got his bearings again--as straight as a die! Good old Muky!”
The old Indian crept on. In his excitement Rod clenched his hands and he seemed to live without breathing. Would Mukoki never shoot? Would he _never_ shoot? He seemed now to be within a stone's throw of the herd.
”How far, Wabi?”