“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 canoe she looked at Rod and smiled, and he in making a polite effort to lift his cap in civilized style, lost that article of apparel in a sudden gust of wind.  In an instant there was a general laugh of merriment in which even the old Indian joined.  The little incident did more toward making comradeship than anything else that might have happened, and laughing again into Rod’s face Minnetaki urged her canoe toward the floating cap.

“You shouldn’t wear such things until it gets cold,” she said, after retrieving the cap and handing it to him.  “Wabi does—­but I don’t!”

“Then I won’t,” replied Rod gallantly, and at Wabi’s burst of laughter both blushed.

That first night at the Post Rod found that Wabi had already made all plans for the winter’s hunting, and the white youth’s complete equipment was awaiting him in the room assigned to him in the factor’s house—­a deadly looking five-shot Remington, similar to Wabi’s, a long-barreled, heavy-caliber revolver, snow-shoes, and a dozen other articles necessary to one about to set out upon a long expedition in the wilderness.  Wabi had also mapped out their hunting-grounds.  Wolves in the immediate neighborhood of the Post, where they were being constantly sought by the Indians and the factor’s men, had become exceedingly cautious and were not numerous, but in the almost untraveled wilderness a hundred miles to the north and east they were literally overrunning the country, killing moose, caribou and deer in great numbers.

In this region Wabi planned to make their winter quarters.  And no time was to be lost in taking up the trail, for the log house in which they would pass the bitterly cold months should be built before the heavy snows set in.  It was therefore decided that the young hunters should start within a week, accompanied by Mukoki, the old Indian, a cousin of the slain Wabigoon, whom Wabi had given the nickname of Muky and who had been a faithful comrade to him from his earliest childhood.