e
thought. But how could he keep it preserved until their return, months
later? He could not suspend it from the limb of a tree, as was the
custom when in camp, for it would either be stolen by some passing
hunter or spoiled by the first warm days of spring. Suddenly an idea
came to him. Why could it not be preserved in what white hunters called
an "Indian ice-box"? In an instant he was acting upon this inspiration.
It was not a small task to drag the huge head to the shelter of the
tamaracks, where, safely hidden from view, he made a closer examination.
The head was gnawed considerably by the wolves, but Wabi had seen worse
ones skillfully repaired by the Indians at the Post.

Under a dense growth of spruce, where the rays of the sun seldom
penetrated, the Indian boy set to work with his belt-ax. For an hour and
a half he worked steadily, and at the end of that time had dug a hole in
the frozen earth three feet deep and four feet square. This hole he now
lined with about two inches of snow, packed as tight as he could jam it
with the butt of his gun. Then placing in the head he packed snow
closely about it and afterward filled in the earth, stamping upon the
hard chunks with his feet. When all was done he concealed the signs of
his work under a covering of snow, blazed two trees with his ax, and
resumed his journey.

"There is thirty dollars for each of us if there's a cent," he mused
softly, as he hurried toward the Ombabika. "That ground won't thaw out
until June. A moose-head and eight scalps at fifteen dollars each isn't
bad for one day's work, Rod, old boy!"

He had been absent for three hours. It had been snowing steadily and by
the time he reached their old camp the trail left by Rod and Mukoki was
already partly obliterated, showing that they had secured an early start
up the river.

Bowing his head in the white clouds falling silently about him, Wabi
started in swift pursuit. He could not see ten rods ahead of him, so
dense was the storm, and at times one side or the other of the river was
lost to view. Conditions could not have been better for their flight out
of the Woonga country, thought the young hunter. By nightfall they would
be many miles up the river, and no sign would be left behind to reveal
their former presence or to show in which direction they had gone. For
two hours he followed tirelessly over the trail, which became more and
more distinct as he proceeded, showing that he was rapidly gainin