ROD FOLLOWS THE MAN-FOOTED BEAR
"I must wait until it is lighter," he said. He tried to control
himself, to fortify himself with the assurance which he no longer
felt.
"We will have breakfast," suggested Wabi. "We have cold meat and there
will be no need of a fire."
Finishing before the others, Rod grasped his rifle and walked out from
among the trees. Wabi made a movement as if to follow, but Mukoki held
him back. There was a shrewd light in his eyes.
"He do better--alone," he warned.
The red glow of the sun was rising above the forest and Rod could now
see far about him. He had come out from the cedars, like this, on the
afternoon that he had gone to hunt and had found Minnetaki's trail. A
mile away he saw the snow-covered ridge where he had hunted for moose.
That ridge was his first guide, and he hurried toward it while Mukoki
and Wabigoon followed far behind him with the dogs and the sledge.
He was breathless when he reached the top. Eagerly he gazed into the
North. It was in that direction he had gone on the afternoon of his
discovery of the strange trail. But nothing that he recognized met his
eyes now, no familiar landmark or tree to guide him again over his
wandering footsteps of that day. Vainly he sought along the ridge for
some slight sign of his former presence there. But everything was
gone. The sun had destroyed his last hope.
He was glad that Mukoki and Wabigoon were at the foot of the ridge,
for he knew that his despair almost brought tears to his eyes,
Minnetaki's fate was in his hands--and he had failed. He dreaded to
tell his companions, to let them see his face. For once in his life,
though he was as courageous a youth as ever lived, Roderick Drew
almost wished that he was dead.
Suddenly, as in their hopeless search for some familiar object Rod's
eyes traveled again over the endless waste of snow, he saw, far away,
something that glittered in the morning sun like a pane of glass, and
from his lips there fell a low exultant cry. He remembered now that he
had seen that strange gleam before, that he had gone straight to it
from the ridge and had found it to be a sheet of crystal ice frozen
to the side of a rock from above which the water of a spring gushed
forth. Without waiting for his companions he hurried down the
ridge and sped like a deer across the narrow plain at its foot. A
five-minute run brought him to the rock, and for a moment he paused,
his heart almost choking him in its excitement. Just beyond this he
had first encountered the strange trail. There were no signs of it
left in the snow, but he saw other things which led him on: a huge
rock thrusting itself out of the chaos of white, a dead poplar which
stood in his path, and at last, half a mile ahead, the edge of a dense
forest.
He turned and waved his arms wildly to Mukoki and Wabigoon, who were
far behind. Then he ran on, and when he reached the forest he waved
his arms again, and his joy was flung back in a thrilling shout to his
comrades. There was the log on which Minnetaki had been forced to sit
while awaiting the pleasure of her savage captors; he found the very
spot where her footprint had been in the snow, close to a protruding
stub! The outlaw Indians and their captives had rested here for a
brief spell, and had built a fire, and so many feet had beaten the
snow about it that their traces still remained.
He pointed to these signs as Mukoki and Wabigoon joined him.
For several minutes no one of the three spoke a word. Crouched over
until his eyes were within a foot of the snow the old pathfinder
examined every inch of the little clearing in which the Woongas had
built their fire, and when at last he drew himself erect his face
betrayed the utmost astonishment.
The boys saw that in those faint marks in the snow he had discovered
something of unusual if not startling significance.
"What is it, Muky?" asked the young Indian.
Mukoki made no reply, but returning to the charred remains of the
fire he again fell upon his hands and knees and repeated his strange
scrutiny of the snow even more closely than before. When he arose a
second time the astonishment had grown deeper in his face.
"Only six!" he exclaimed. "Two guides from Post--four Woongas!"
"But the wounded driver told us that there were at least a dozen
Woongas in the attacking party," said Wabi.
The old warrior chuckled, and for a moment his face twisted itself
into a ludicrous grimace.
"Driver lie!" he declared. "He run when fight begin. Shot in back
while heem run!"
He pointed into the cold depths of the forest.
"No sun there! Follow trail easy!"
There was no uneasiness in Mukoki's manner now. His eyes gleamed, but
it was with the fire of battle and resolution, not with excitement.
Once before Rod had seen that look in the old warrior's face, when
they two had fought to save Wabigoon's life as they were now about to
fight to save Minnetaki. And he knew what it meant. Cautiously they
penetrated the forest, their eyes and ears alert, and, as Mukoki had
predicted, the trail of the retreating savages was quite distinct.
They had taken both of the captured sledges, and Rod knew that on one
of these Minnetaki was being carried. Hardly had the three progressed
a hundred paces when Mukoki, who was in the lead, stopped short with
a huge grunt. Squarely across the trail lay the body of a dead man. A
glance at the upturned face showed that it was one of the two drivers
from Wabinosh House.
"Head split," said Mukoki, as he led the team around the body. "Shot,
mebby--then killed with ax."
The dogs sniffed and cringed as they passed the slain man, and Rod
shuddered. Involuntarily he thought of what might have happened to
Minnetaki, and he noticed that after passing this spectacle of death
Mukoki doubled his speed. For an hour the pursuit continued without
interruption. The Woongas were traveling in a narrow trail, single
file, with the two sledges between their number. At the end of that
hour the three came upon the remains of another camp-fire near which
were built two cedar-bough shelters. Here the tracks in the snow were
much fresher; in places they seemed to have been but lately made.
Still there were no evidences of the captured girl. The boys could see
that Mukoki himself had found no explanation for the sudden freshness
of the trail and for the absence of Minnetaki's footprints among the
tracks. Again and again the shrewd old pathfinder went over the camp.
Not a sign escaped his eyes, not a mark or a broken stick but that was
examined by him. Rod knew that Minnetaki's capture must have occurred
at least three days before, and yet the tracks about this camp were
not more than a day old, if they were that. What did it mean?
The very mystery of the thing filled him with a nameless fear. Why had
not the outlaw Woongas continued their flight? Why this delay so near
the scene of their crime? He glanced at Wabi, but the Indian youth was
as bewildered as himself. In his eyes, too, there was the gleam of a
fear which he could not have named.
Mukoki was beside the charred remains of the fire. He had buried his
hand deep among them, and when he rose he made a sign toward Rod's
watch.
"Eight o'clock, Mukoki."
"Woonga here las' night," declared the old Indian slowly. "Leave camp
four hour ago!"
What did it mean?
Had Minnetaki been hurt, so dangerously hurt that her captors had not
dared to move her?
Rod asked himself no more questions. But he was trembling. And Mukoki
and Wabigoon went on with strange, unnatural faces and breathed not
the whisper of a word between them. The mystery was beyond them all.
But one thing they realized, whatever had happened they were close
upon the heels of the savages. And each step brought them nearer,
for with every mile the freshness of the trail increased. Then came
another great surprise.
The trail divided!
At the edge of a small opening the Indians had separated themselves
into two parties. The trail of one sledge led into the northeast, that
of the other into the northwest!
With which sledge was Minnetaki? They looked at one another in
bewilderment.
Mukoki pointed to the trail into the northeast.
"We must fin' sign--sign of Minnetaki. You take that--I take this!"
Rod started off at a dog trot over the easternmost trail. At the
farther side of the opening, where the sledge had plunged into a clump
of hazel, he suddenly stopped, and for a second time that morning
a thrilling cry escaped his lips. On a projecting thorny twig,
glistening full in the sun, there fluttered a long, silken strand of
hair. He reached out for it, but Wabi caught his hand, and in another
moment Mukoki had joined them. Gently he took the raven tress between
his fingers, his deep-set eyes glaring like red coals of fire. It was
a strand of Minnetaki's beautiful hair, not for a moment did one of
them doubt that; but what held them most, what increased the horror in
their eyes, was the quantity of it! Suddenly Mukoki gave it a gentle
pull and the tress slipped free of the twig.
In the next breath he uttered the only expression of supreme disgust
in his vocabulary a long-drawn, hissing sound which he used only in
those moments when his command of English was entirely inadequate to
the situation.
"Minnetaki on other sledge!"
He showed the end of the strand to his young companions.
"See--hair been cut! No pulled out by twig. Woonga hang heem
there--make us think wrong."
He waited for no reply, but darted back to the other trail, with Wabi
and Rod close behind him. A quarter of a mile farther on the old
pathfinder paused and pointed in exultant silence at a tiny footprint
close beside the path of the sledge. At almost regular intervals now
there appeared this sign of Minnetaki's moccasin. Her two guards were
running ahead of the sledge, and it was apparent to the pursuers that
Wabi's sister was taking advantage of her opportunities to leave these
signs behind for those whom she knew would make an attempt at her
rescue. And yet, as they left farther and farther behind them the
trail which ran into the northeast, an inexplicable feeling of
uneasiness began to steal over Rod. What if Mukoki had made a mistake?
His confidence in the old warrior's judgment and sagacity was usually
absolute, but it occurred to him, like an ugly humor to stir up his
fears, that if the Woongas could cut off a bit of the girl's hair they
could also take off one of her shoes! Several times he was on the
point of giving audible voice to his suspicions but refrained from
doing so when he saw the assurance with which both Wabi and Mukoki
followed the trail.
Finally he could hold himself no longer.
"Wabi, I'm going back," he cried softly, forging alongside his
companion. "I'm going back and follow the other trail. If I don't find
anything in a mile or so I'll return on the double-quick and overtake
you!"
Wabi's efforts to dissuade him were futile, and a few minutes later
Rod was again at the clearing. What presentiment was it that caused
his heart to beat faster and his breath to come in tense excitement as
he stole through the bushes where they had found the silken tress of
hair? What something was it, away down in his soul, that kept urging
him on and on, even after he had gone a mile, and then two miles, in
fruitless search? Rod could not have answered these questions had he
stopped to ask them of himself. He was not superstitious. He did not
believe in dreams. And yet each moment, without apparent reason added
to his conviction that Mukoki had made a mistake, and that Minnetaki
was on the sledge ahead of him.
The country into which he was penetrating grew wilder. Rocky ridges
rose before him, split by rifts and gullies through which the water
must have rushed in torrents in the spring. He listened, and proceeded
more cautiously; and through his mind there flashed a memory of his
thrilling exploration of the mysterious chasm of a few weeks before,
when, in his lonely night camp, he had dreamed of the skeletons. He
was thinking of this when he came around the end of a huge rock which
lay as big as a house in his path. Upon the snow, almost at his feet,
was a sight that froze the blood in his veins. For the second time
that day he gazed upon the distorted features of a dead man. Squarely
across the trail, as the other had lain, was the body of an Indian,
his arms outstretched, his twisted face turned straight up to the
clear sky, the snow about his head glistening a sickening red in the
sun. For a full minute Rod gazed in silent horror on the scene. There
was no sign of a struggle, there were no footprints in the snow. The
man had been killed while upon the sledge, and the only mark he had
made was when he had fallen off.
Who had killed him?
Had Minnetaki saved herself by taking her captor's life?
For a moment Rod was almost convinced that this was so. He examined
the stains in the snow and found that they were still damp and
unfrozen. He was sure that the tragedy had occurred less than an hour
before. More cautiously, and yet swifter than before, he followed the
trail of the sledge, his rifle held in readiness for a shot at
any moment. The path became wilder and in places it seemed almost
inaccessible. But between the tumbled mass of rock the sledge had
found its way, its savage driver not once erring in his choice of the
openings ahead. Gradually the trail ascended until it came to the
summit of a huge ridge. Hardly had Rod reached the top when another
trail cut across that of the sledge.
Deeply impressed in the softening snow were the footprints of a big
bear!
The first warm sunshine, thought Rod, had aroused the beast from his
winter sleep, and he was making a short excursion from his den. From
where the bear had crossed the trail the sledge turned abruptly in the
direction from which the bear had come.
Without giving a thought to his action, Rod began his descent of the
ridge in the trail made by the bear, at the same time keeping his eyes
fixed upon the sledge track and the distant forest. At the foot of the
ridge the great trunk of a fallen tree lay in his path, and as he went
to climb over it he stopped, a cry of amazement stifling itself in his
throat. Over that tree the bear had scrambled, and upon it, close to
the spot where the animal had brushed off the snow in his passage, was
the imprint of a human hand!
For a full minute Rod stood as motionless as if he had been paralyzed,
scarcely breathing in his excitement. The four fingers and thumb of
the hand had left their impressions with startling clearness. The
fingers were long and delicately slender, the palm narrow. The imprint
had assuredly not been made by the hand of a man!
Recovering himself, Rod looked about him. There were no marks in the
snow except those of the bear. Was it possible that he was mistaken?
He scrutinized the mysterious handprint again. As he gazed an uncanny
chill crept through him, and when he raised his head he knew that he
was trembling in spite of his efforts to control himself. Turning
about he swiftly followed the trail to the top of the ridge, recrossed
the sledge track, and descended again into the wildness of the gorge
on the other side. He had not progressed twenty rods when without a
sound he dropped behind a rock. He had seen no movement ahead of him.
He had heard nothing. Yet in that moment he was thrilled as never
before in his life.
For the bear trail had ceased.
And ahead of him, instead of the tracks of a beast, there continued
_the footprints of a man_!