There was Mukoki—­peeling potatoes!

“Hello, Muky!” he shouted.

The old Indian looked up with a grin.  His face bore no signs of his mad night on the trail.  He nodded cheerfully and proceeded with the preparation of breakfast as though he had just risen from his blankets after a long night’s rest.

“Better get up,” he advised.  “Big day’s hunt.  Much fine sunshine to-day.  Find wolves on mountain—­plenty wolves!”

The boys tumbled from their blankets and began dressing.

“What time did you get in?” asked Wabi.

“Now,” replied Mukoki, pointing to the hot stove and the peeled potatoes.  “Just make fire good.”

Wabi gave Rod a suggestive look as the old Indian bent over the stove.

“What were you doing last night?” he questioned.

“Big moon—­might get shot,” grunted Mukoki.  “See lynx on hill.  See wolf-tracks on red deer trail.  No shot.”

This was as much of the history of Mukoki’s night on the trail as the boys could secure, but during their breakfast Wabi shot another glance at Rod, and as Mukoki left the table for a moment to close the damper in the stove he found an opportunity to whisper: 

“See if I’m not right.  He will choose the mountain trail.”  When their companion returned, he said:  “We had better split up this morning, hadn’t we, Muky?  It looks to me as though there are two mighty good lines for traps—­one over the hill, where that creek leads off through the range of ridges to the east, and the other along the creek which runs through the hilly plains to the north.  What do you think of it?”

“Good” agreed the old hunter.  “You two go north—­I take ridges.”

“No, you and I will take the ridges and Wabi will go north alone,” amended Rod quickly.  “I’m going with you, Mukoki!”

Mukoki, who was somewhat flattered by this preference of the white youth, grinned and chuckled and began to talk more volubly about the plans which were in his head.  It was agreed that they all would return to the cabin at an early hour in the afternoon, for the old Indian seemed positive that they would have their first wolf hunt that night.

Rod noticed that the captive wolf received no breakfast that morning, and he easily guessed the reason.

The traps were now divided.  Three different sizes had been brought from the Post—­fifty small ones for mink, marten and other small fur animals; fifteen fox traps, and as many larger ones for lynx and wolves.  Wabi equipped himself with twenty of the small traps and four each of fox and lynx traps, while Rod and Mukoki took about forty in all.  The remainder of the caribou meat was then cut into chunks and divided equally among them for bait.

The sun was just beginning to show itself above the wilderness when the hunters left camp.  As Mukoki had predicted, it was a glorious day, one of those bitterly cold, cloudless days when, as the Indians believe, the great Creator robs the rest of the world of the sun that it may shine in all its glory upon their own savage land.  From the top of the hill that sheltered their home Rod looked out over the glistening forests and lakes in rapt and speechless admiration; but only for a few moments did the three pause, then took up their different trails.