Part 18 (1/2)

It was a strange, terrible-looking object--a giant Indian, distorted in death--and a half of his head was shot away!

When he again looked at Mukoki the old Indian was in the midst of the hot ruins, kicking about with his booted feet and poking with the b.u.t.t of his rifle.

CHAPTER XIV

THE RESCUE OF WABIGOON

Rod had sunk into the snow close to the dead man. His endurance was gone and he was as weak as a child. He watched every movement Mukoki made; saw every start, every glance, and became almost sick with fear whenever the warrior bent down to examine some object.

Was Wabi dead--and burned in those ruins?

Foot by foot Mukoki searched. His feet became hot; the smell of burning leather filled his nostrils; glowing coals burned through to his feet.

But the old Indian was beyond pain. Only two things filled his soul. One of these was love for Minnetaki; the other was love for Wabigoon. And there was only one other thing that could take the place of these, and that was merciless, undying, savage pa.s.sion--pa.s.sion at any wrong or injury that might be done to them. The Woongas had sneaked upon Wabi. He knew that. They had caught him unaware, like cowards; and perhaps he was dead--and in those ruins!

He searched until his feet were scorched and burned in a score of places, and then he came out, smoke-blackened, but with some of the terrible look gone out of his face.

”He no there!” he said, speaking for the first time.

Again he crouched beside the dead man, and grimaced at Rod with a triumphant, gloating chuckle.

”Much dead!” he grinned.

In a moment the grimace had gone from his face, and while Rod still rested he continued his examination of the camp. Close around it the snow was beaten down with human tracks. Mukoki saw where the outlaws had stolen up behind the cabin from the forest and he saw where they had gone away after the attack.

Five had come down from the cedars, only four had gone away!

Where was Wabi?

If he had been captured, and taken with the Indians, there would have been five trails. Rod understood this as well as Mukoki, and he also understood why his companion went back to make another investigation of the smoldering ruins. This second search, however, convinced the Indian that Wabi's body had not been thrown into the fire. There was only one conclusion to draw. The youth had made a desperate fight, had killed one of the outlaws, and after being wounded in the conflict had been carried off bodily. Wabi and his captors could not be more than two or three miles away. A quick pursuit would probably overtake them within an hour.

Mukoki came to Rod's side.

”Me follow--kill!” he said. ”Me kill so many quick!” He pointed toward the four trails. ”You stay--”

Rod clambered to his feet.

”You mean we'll kill 'em, Muky,” he broke in. ”I can follow you again.

Set the pace!”

There came the click of the safety on Mukoki's rifle, and Rod, following suit, c.o.c.ked his own.

”Much quiet,” whispered the Indian when they had come to the farther side of the dip. ”No noise--come up still--shoot!”

The snow-shoe trail of the outlaws turned from the dip into the timbered bottoms to the north, and Mukoki, partly crouched, his rifle always to the front, followed swiftly. They had not progressed a hundred yards into the plain when the old hunter stopped, a puzzled look in his face.

He pointed to one of the snow-shoe trails which was much deeper than the others.

”Heem carry Wabi,” he spoke softly. ”But--” His eyes gleamed in sudden excitement. ”They go slow! They no hurry! Walk very slow! Take much time!”

Rod now observed for the first time that the individual tracks made by the outlaws were much shorter than their own, showing that instead of being in haste they were traveling quite slowly. This was a mystery which was not easy to explain. Did the Woongas not fear pursuit? Was it possible that they believed the hunters would not hasten to give them battle? Or were they relying upon the strength of their numbers, or, perhaps, planning some kind of ambush?