He began to sink again, slowly, as if an invisible hand were pulling him down, and in his despair he made a last frantic effort, striking out blindly, knowing that in another second he must open his mouth.  Even under the water he still had consciousness enough left to know that he tried to cry out, and he felt the first gurgling rush of water into his lungs.  But he did not see the long arm that reached down where the bubbles were coming up, he did not feel the grip that dragged him out upon the ice.  His first sense of life was that something very heavy was upon his stomach, and that he was being rubbed, and pummeled, and rolled about as if he had become the plaything of a great bear.  Then he saw Mukoki, and then Wabigoon.

“You go build fire,” he heard Mukoki say, and he could hear Wabi running swiftly shoreward.  For he knew that they were still upon the ice.  The canoe was drawn safely up a dozen feet away, and the old Indian was dragging blankets from it.  When Mukoki turned he found Rod resting upon his elbow, looking at him.

“That—­w’at you call heem—­close shave!” he grinned, placing a supporting arm under Rod’s shoulder.

With Mukoki’s assistance the youth rose to his feet, and a thick blanket was wrapped about him.  Slowly they made their way shoreward, and soon Wabi came running out to meet them, dripping wet.

“Rod, when we get thawed out, I want you to kick me,” he pleaded.  “I want you to kick me good and hard, and then I’ll take great pleasure in kicking you.  And ever after this, when we do a thing that Mukoki tells us not to do, we’ll kick some more!”

“Who pulled us out?” asked Rod.

“Mukoki, of course.  Will you kick me?”

“Shake!”

And the two dripping, half-frozen young adventurers shook hands, while Mukoki chuckled and grunted and gurgled until he set the others bursting into laughter.

CHAPTER VIII

THE YELLOW BULLET

Before a rousing fire of logs Rod and Wabigoon began to see the cheerful side of life again, and as soon as Mukoki had built them a balsam shelter they stripped off their clothes and wrapped themselves in blankets, while the old Indian dried their outfits.  It was two hours before they were dressed.  No sooner were they out than Wabi went into the bush and returned a few minutes later brandishing a good-sized birch in his hand.  There was no sign of humor in his face as he eyed Rod.

“Do you see that log?” he said, pointing to the big trunk of a fallen tree near the fire “That will just fit your stomach, Rod.  It will be better than kicking.  Double yourself over that, face down, pantaloons up.  I’m going to lick you first because I want you to know just how much to give me.  I want it twice as hard, for I was more to blame than you.”

In some astonishment Rod doubled himself over the log.

“Great Scott!” he ejaculated, peering up in dismay.  “Not too hard, Wabi!”