The Tales of the Wild North (39 Novels & Stories in One Volume). James Oliver Curwood

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СКАЧАТЬ smiled faintly and Wabi gave a half-shout of delight.

      "Not so bad as we thought, eh, Rod?" he cried. "You can't fool Muky! If he says your arm isn't broken—why, it isn't, and that's all there is to it. Let me bolster you up in these blankets and we'll soon have a supper that will sizzle the aches out of you. I smell meat—fresh meat!"

      With a chuckle of pleasure Mukoki jumped to his feet and ran out to where the ribs of the doe were slowly broiling over the fire. They were already done to a rich brown and their dripping juice filled the nostrils with an appetizing odor. By the time Wabi had applied Mukoki's prescription to his comrade's wounds, and had done them up in bandages, the tempting feast was spread before them.

      As a liberal section of the ribs was placed before him, together with corn-meal cakes and a cup of steaming coffee, Rod could not suppress a happy though somewhat embarrassed laugh.

      "I'm ashamed of myself, Wabi," he said. "Here I've been causing so much bother, like some helpless kid; and now I find I haven't even the excuse of a broken arm, and that I'm as hungry as a bear! Looks pretty yellow, doesn't it? Just as though I was scared to death! So help me, I almost wish my arm was broken!"

      Mukoki had buried his teeth in a huge chunk of fat rib, but he lowered it with a great chuckling grunt, half of his face smeared with the first results of his feast.

      "Whole lot sick," he explained. "Be sick some more—mighty sick! Maybe vomit lots!"

      "Waugh!" shrieked Wabi. "How is that for cheerful news, Rod?" His merriment echoed far out into the night. Suddenly he caught himself and peered suspiciously into the gloom beyond the circle of firelight.

      "Do you suppose they would follow?" he asked.

      A more cautious silence followed, and the Indian youth quickly related the adventures of the day to Mukoki—how, in the heart of the forest several miles beyond the lake, they had come upon the Indian hunters, had accepted of their seemingly honest hospitality, and in the midst of their meal had suffered an attack from them. So sudden and unexpected had been the assault that one of the Indians got away with Rod's rifle, ammunition belt and revolver before any effort could be made to stop him. Wabi was under the other two Indians when Rod came to his assistance, with the result that the latter was struck two heavy blows, either with a club or a gun-stock. So tenaciously had the Indian boy clung to his own weapon that his assailants, after a brief struggle, darted into the dense underbrush, evidently satisfied with the white boy's equipment.

      "They were of Woonga's people, without a doubt," finished Wabi. "It puzzles me why they didn't kill us. They had half a dozen chances to shoot us, but didn't seem to want to do us any great injury. Either the measures taken at the Post are making them reform, or—"

      He paused, a troubled look in his eyes. Immediately Mukoki told of his own experience and of the mysterious haste of the three Indians who had slain the doe.

      "It is certainly curious," rejoined the young Indian. "They couldn't have been the ones we met, but I'll wager they belong to the same gang. I wouldn't be surprised if we had hit upon one of Woonga's retreats. We've always thought he was in the Thunder Bay regions to the west, and that is where father is watching for him now. We've hit the hornets' nest, Muky, and the only thing for us to do is to get out of this country as fast as we can!"

      "We'd make a nice pot-shot just at this moment," volunteered Rod, looking across to the dense blackness on the opposite side of the river, where the moonlight seemed to make even more impenetrable the wall of gloom.

      As he spoke there came a slight sound from behind him, the commotion of a body moving softly beyond the wall of spruce boughs, then a curious, suspicious sniffing, and after that a low whine.

      "Listen!"

      Wabi's command came in a tense whisper. He leaned close against the boughs, stealthily parted them, and slowly thrust his head through the aperture.

      "Hello, Wolf!" he whispered. "What's up?"

      An arm's length away, tied before a smaller shelter of spruce, a gaunt, dog-like animal stood in a rigid listening attitude. An instant's glance, however, would have assured one that it was not a dog, but a full-grown wolf. From the days of its puppyhood Wabi had taught it in the ways of dogdom, yet had the animal perversely clung to its wild instincts. A weakness in that thong, a slip of the collar, and Wolf would have bounded joyously into the forests to seek for ever the packs of his fathers. Now the babeesh rope was taut, Wolf's muzzle was turned half to the sky, his ears were alert, half-sounding notes rattled in his throat.

      "There is something near our camp!" announced the Indian boy, drawing himself back quickly. "Muky—"

      He was interrupted by a long mournful howl from the captive wolf.

      Mukoki had jumped to his feet with the alertness of a cat, and now with his gun in his hand slunk around the edge of the shelter and buried himself in the gloom. Roderick lay quiet while Wabi, seizing the remaining rifle, followed him.

      "Lie over there in the dark, Rod, where the firelight doesn't show you up," he cautioned in a low voice. "Probably it is only some animal that has stumbled on to our camp, but we want to make sure."

      Ten minutes later the young hunter returned alone.

      "False alarm!" he laughed cheerfully. "There's a part of a carcass of a red deer up the creek a bit. It has been killed by wolves, and Wolf smells some of his own blood coming in to the feast. Muky has set traps there and we may have our first scalp in the morning."

      "Where is Mukoki?"

      "On watch. He is going to keep guard until a little after midnight, and then I'll turn out. We can't be too careful, with the Woongas in the neighborhood."

      Rod shifted himself uneasily.

      "What shall we do—to-morrow?" he asked.

      "Get out!" replied Wabi with emphasis. "That is, if you are able to travel. From what Mukoki tells me, and from what you and I already know, Woonga's people must be in the forests beyond the lake. We'll cut a trail up the Ombabika for two or three days before we strike camp. You and Muky can start out as soon as it is light enough."

      "And you—" began Rod.

      "Oh, I'm going to take a run back over our old wolf-trail and collect the scalps we shot to-day. There's a month's salary back there for you, Rod! Now, let's turn in. Good night—sleep tight—and be sure to wake up early in the morning."

      The boys, exhausted by the adventures of the day, were soon in profound slumber. And though midnight came, and hour after hour passed between then and dawn, the faithful Mukoki did not awaken them. Never for a moment neglecting his caution the old Indian watched tirelessly over the camp. With the first appearance of day he urged the fire into a roaring blaze, raked out a great mass of glowing coals, and proceeded to get breakfast. Wabi discovered him at this task when he awoke from his slumber.

      "I didn't think you would play this trick on me, Muky," he said, a flush of embarrassment gathering in his brown face. "It's awfully good of you, and all that, but I wish you wouldn't treat me as if I were a child any longer, old friend!"

      He placed his hand affectionately upon the kneeling Mukoki's shoulder, and the old hunter looked up at him with a happy, satisfied grin on his weather-beaten visage, wrinkled and of the texture of leather by nearly fifty years of life in the wilderness. It was Mukoki who had first carried the baby Wabi about the woods upon his shoulders; it was СКАЧАТЬ