“Aha, here’s Rod with a packful of gold!” cried the young Indian, striking an expectant attitude.  “Will you let us see the treasure?” In spite of his banter there was gladness in his face at Rod’s arrival.

The youth threw off his pack with a spiritless effort and flopped into a chair as though in the last stage of exhaustion.

“You’ll have to undo the pack,” he replied.  “I’m too tired and hungry.”

Wabi’s manner changed at once to one of real sympathy.

“I’ll bet you’re tired, Rod, and half starved.  We’ll have dinner in a hurry.  Ho, Muky, put on the steak, will you?”

There followed a rattle of kettles and tin pans and the Indian youth gave Rod a glad slap on the back as he hurried to the table.  He was evidently in high spirits, and burst into a snatch of song as he cut up a loaf of bread.

“I’m tickled to see you back,” he admitted, “for I was getting a little bit nervous.  We had splendid luck on our lines yesterday.  Brought in another ‘cross’ and three mink.  Did you see anything?”

“Aren’t you going to look in the pack?”

Wabi turned and gazed at his companion with a half-curious hesitating smile.

“Anything in it?” he asked suspiciously.

“See here, boys,” cried Rod, forgetting himself in his suppressed enthusiasm.  “I said there was a treasure in that chasm, and there was.  I found it.  You are welcome to look into that pack if you wish!”

Wabi dropped the knife with which he was cutting the bread and went to the pack.  He touched it with the toe of his boot, lifted it in his hands, and glanced at Rod again.

“It isn’t a joke?” he asked.

“No.”

Rod turned his back upon the scene and began to take off his coat as coolly as though it were the commonest thing in the world for him to bring silver foxes into camp.  Only when Wabi gave a suppressed yell did he turn about, and then he found the Indian standing erect and holding out the silver to the astonished gaze of Mukoki.

“Is it a good one?” he asked.

“A beauty!” gasped Wabi.

Mukoki had taken the animal and was examining it with the critical eyes of a connoisseur.

“Ver’ fine!” he said.  “At Post heem worth fi’ hundred dollars—­at Montreal t’ree hundred more!”

Wabi strode across the cabin and thrust out his hand.

“Shake, Rod!”

As the two gripped hands he turned to Mukoki.

“Bear witness, Mukoki, that this young gentleman is no longer a tenderfoot.  He has shot a silver fox.  He has done a whole winter’s work in one day.  I take off my hat to you, Mr. Drew!”

Roderick’s face reddened with a flush of pleasure.

“And that isn’t all, Wabi,” he said.  His eyes were filled with a sudden intense earnestness, and in the strangeness of the change Wabi forgot to loosen the grip of his fingers about his companion’s hand.