he 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 be 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. Gent