f coffee mingled with
that of meal-cakes sizzling on a heated stone, he knew that his dearest
dreams had come true.

That night in the glow of the camp-fire Rod listened to the thrilling
stories of Wabi and the old Indian, and lay awake until nearly dawn,
listening to the occasional howl of a wolf, mysterious splashings in the
river and the shrill notes of the night birds. There were varied
experiences in the following three days: one frosty morning before the
others were awake he stole out from the camp with Wabi's rifle and shot
twice at a red deer--which he missed both times; there was an exciting
but fruitless race with a swimming caribou in Sturgeon Lake, at which
Wabi himself took three long-range shots without effect.

It was on a glorious autumn afternoon that Wabi's keen eyes first
descried the log buildings of the Post snuggled in the edge of the
seemingly unending forest. As they approached he joyfully pointed out
the different buildings to Rod--the Company store, the little cluster of
employees' homes and the factor's house, where Rod was to meet his
welcome. At least Roderick himself had thought it would be there. But as
they came nearer a single canoe shot out suddenly from the shore and the
young hunters could see a white handkerchief waving them greeting. Wabi
replied with a whoop of pleasure and fired his gun into the air.

"It's Minnetaki!" he cried. "She said she would watch for us and come
out to meet us!"

Minnetaki! A little nervous thrill shot through Rod. Wabi had described
her to him a thousand times in those winter evenings at home; with a
brother's love and pride he had always brought her into their talks and
plans, and somehow, little by little, Rod had grown to like her very
much without ever having seen her.

The two canoes swiftly approached each other, and in a few minutes more
were alongside. With a glad laughing cry Minnetaki leaned over and
kissed her brother, while at the same time her dark eyes shot a curious
glance at the youth of whom she had read and heard so much.

At this time Minnetaki was fifteen. Like her mother's race she was
slender, of almost woman's height, and unconsciously as graceful as a
fawn in her movements. A slightly waving wealth of raven hair framed
what Rod thought to be one of the prettiest faces he had ever seen, and
entwined in the heavy silken braid that fell over her shoulder were a
number of red autumn leaves. As she straightened herself in her cano