The Wolf Hunters | Page 5

little opening almost at the young hunters'
feet. It was a sight which Rod had never expected to see, and one which
held even the more experienced Wabi fascinated. Not a sound fell from
either of the youths' lips as they stared down upon the fierce, hungry
outlaws of the wilderness. To Wabi this near view of the pack told a
fateful story; to Rod it meant nothing more than the tragedy about to be
enacted before his eyes. The Indian's keen vision saw in the white
moonlight long, thin bodies, starved almost to skin and bone; to his
companion the onrushing pack seemed filled only with agile, powerful
beasts, maddened to almost fiendish exertions by the nearness of their
prey.
In a flash they were gone, but in that moment of their passing there was
painted a picture to endure a lifetime in the memory of Roderick Drew.
And it was to be followed by one even more tragic, even more thrilling.
To the dazed, half-fainting young hunter it seemed but another instant
before the pack overhauled the old bull. He saw the doomed monster
turn, in the stillness heard the snapping of jaws, the snarling of
hunger-crazed animals, and a sound that might have been a great,

heaving moan or a dying bellow. In Wabi's veins the blood danced with
the excitement that stirred his forefathers to battle. Not a line of the
tragedy that was being enacted before his eyes escaped this native son
of the wilderness. It was a magnificent fight! He knew that the old bull
would die by inches in the one-sided duel, and that when it was over
there would be more than one carcass for the survivors to gorge
themselves upon. Quietly he reached up and touched his companion.
"Now is our time," he said. "Come on--still--and on this side of the
tree!"
He slipped down, foot by foot, assisting Rod as he did so, and when
both had reached the ground he bent over as before, that the other
might get upon his back.
"I can make it alone, Wabi," whispered the wounded boy. "Give me a
lift on the arm, will you?"
With the Indian's arm about his waist, the two set off into the tamaracks.
Fifteen minutes later they came to the bank of a small frozen river. On
the opposite side of this, a hundred yards down, was a sight which both,
as if by a common impulse, welcomed with a glad cry. Close to the
shore, sheltered by a dense growth of spruce, was a bright camp-fire. In
response to Wabi's far-reaching whoop a shadowy figure appeared in
the glow and returned the shout.
"Mukoki!" cried the Indian.
"Mukoki!" laughed Rod, happy that the end was near.
Even as he spoke he swayed dizzily, and Wabi dropped his gun that he
might keep his companion from falling into the snow.
CHAPTER II
HOW WABIGOON BECAME A WHITE MAN
Had the young hunters the power of looking into the future, their

camp-fire that night on the frozen Ombabika might have been one of
their last, and a few days later would have seen them back on the edges
of civilization. Possibly, could they have foreseen the happy
culmination of the adventures that lay before them, they would still
have gone on, for the love of excitement is strong in the heart of robust
youth. But this power of discernment was denied them, and only in
after years, with the loved ones of their own firesides close about them,
was the whole picture revealed. And in those days, when they would
gather with their families about the roaring logs of winter and live over
again their early youth, they knew that all the gold in the world would
not induce them to part with their memories of the life that had gone
before.
A little less than thirty years previous to the time of which we write, a
young man named John Newsome left the great city of London for the
New World. Fate had played a hard game with young Newsome--had
first robbed him of both parents, and then in a single fitful turn of her
wheel deprived him of what little property he had inherited. A little
later he came to Montreal, and being a youth of good education and
considerable ambition, he easily secured a position and worked himself
into the confidence of his employers, obtaining an appointment as
factor at Wabinosh House, a Post deep in the wilderness of Lake
Nipigon.
In the second year of his reign at Wabinosh--a factor is virtually king in
his domain--there came to the Post an Indian chief named Wabigoon,
and with him his daughter, Minnetaki, in honor of whose beauty and
virtue a town was named in after years. Minnetaki