through the dip, and out
again upon the plain. And with that same nameless fear always close
behind him, urging him on with its terrors, he sped back over the
trail that he had followed that day, nor for an instant did he stop to
rest until he came to the camp-fire of Rod and Wabigoon.

Usually an Indian hides his fears; he conceals them as a white man
does his sins. But to-night Mukoki's experience had passed beyond the
knowledge of his race, and he told of what had happened, trembling
still, cringing when a great white rabbit darted close to the fire.
Rod and Wabi listened to him in mute astonishment.

"Could it have been a Woonga?" asked Wabi.

"No Woonga," replied the old warrior quickly, shaking his head.
"Woonga no mak' noise lak that!"

He drew away from the fire, wrapped himself in a blanket, and crept
into the shelter that Rod and Wabigoon had built. The two boys looked
at each other in silence.

"Muky has certainly had some most extraordinary adventure," said Wabi
at last. "I have never seen him like this before. It is easy to guess
the meaning of the shot. Some of the Woongas may still be in the
country, and one of them saw Mukoki, and fired at him. But the scream!
What do you make of that?"

"Do you suppose," whispered Rod, speaking close to his companion's
ear, "that Mukoki's imagination helped him out to-night?" He paused
for a moment as he saw the look of disapproval in Wabigoon's eyes,
and then went on. "I don't mean to hint that he stretched his story
purposely. He was standing on the mountain top. Suddenly there came a
flash of fire, the report of a rifle, and a bullet zipped close to his
head. And at that same instant, or a moment later--well, you remember
the scream of the lynx!"

"You believe that it might have been a lynx, startled by the shot, and
sent screaming across the plain?"

"Yes."

"Impossible. At the sound of that shot a lynx would have remained as
still as death!"

"Still there are always exceptions," persisted the white youth.

"Not in the case of lynx," declared Wabigoon. "No animal made those
cries. Mukoki is as fearless as a lion. The cry of a lynx would have
stirred his blood with pleasure instead of fear. Whatever the sounds
were they turned Mukoki's blood into water. They made him a coward,
and he ran, ran, mind you! until he got back to us! Is that like
Mukoki? I tell you the cries--"

"What?"

"Were something very unusual," finished Wabigoon quietly, rising to