It was spring, and at Wabinosh House it brought more joy than elsewhere, for there Roderick Drew joined his mother. We have not time here to dwell on the things that happened at the old Hudson Bay Post during the ten days after their first happy reunion—of the love that sprang up between Rod's mother and Minnetaki, and the princess wife of George Newsome, the factor; of the departure of the soldiers whose task of running down Woonga ended with Rod's desperate fight in the cabin, or of the preparations of the gold hunters themselves.
On a certain evening in April, Wabi, Mukoki and Rod had assembled in the latter's room. The next morning they were to start on their long and thrilling adventure into the far North, and on this last night they went carefully over their equipment and plans to see that nothing had been forgotten. That night Rod slept little. For the second time in his life the fever of adventure was running wild in his blood. After the others had gone he studied the precious old map until his eyes grew dim; in the half slumber that came to him afterward his brain worked ceaselessly, and he saw visions of the romantic old cabin again, and the rotting buckskin bag filled with nuggets of gold on the table.
He was up before the stars began fading in the dawn, and in the big dining-room of the Post, in which had gathered the factors and their families for two hundred years, the boys ate their last breakfast with those whom they were about to leave for many weeks, perhaps months. The factor himself was boisterously cheerful in his efforts to keep up the good cheer of Mrs. Drew and the princess mother, and even Minnetaki forced herself to smile, and laugh, though her eyes were red, and all knew that she had been crying. Rod was glad when the meal was over and they went out into the chill air of the morning, and down to the edge of the lake, where their big birch-bark canoe was loaded and waiting for their departure, and he was still more relieved when they had bade a last good-by to the two mothers. But Minnetaki came down to the canoe with them, and when Wabi kissed her she burst into tears, and Rod felt a queer thickening in his throat as he took her firm little hand and held it for a moment between both his own.
“Good-by, Minnetaki,” he whispered.
He turned and took his position in the middle of the canoe, and with a last shout Wabi shoved off and the canoe sped out into the gloom.
For a long time there was silence, except for the rhythmic dip of the three paddles. Once Minnetaki's voice came to them faintly, and they answered it with a shout. But that was all. After a time Rod said,
“By George, this saying good-by is the toughest part of the whole business!”
His words cleared away the feeling of oppression that seemed to have fallen on them.
“It's always hard for me to leave Minnetaki,” replied Wabigoon. “Some day I'm going to take her on a trip with me.”
“She'd be a bully fellow!” cried Rod with enthusiasm.
From the stern of the canoe came a delighted chuckle from Mukoki.
“She brave—she shoot, she hunt, she be dam' fine!” he added, and both Rod and Wabi burst out laughing. The young Indian looked at his compass by the light of a match.
“We'll strike straight across Lake Nipigon instead of following the shore. What do you say, Muky?” he called back.
The old pathfinder was silent. In surprise Wabi ceased paddling, and repeated his question.
“Don't you think it is safe?”
Mukoki wet his hand over the side and held it above his head.
“Wind in south,” he said. “Maybe no get stronger, but—”
“If she did,” added Rod dubiously, noting how heavily laden the canoe was, “we'd be in a fix, as sure as you live!”
“It will take us all of to-day and half of to-morrow to follow the shore,” urged Wabi, “while by cutting straight across the lake we can make the other side early this afternoon. Let's risk it!”
Mukoki grunted something that was a little less than approval, and Rod felt a peculiar sensation shoot through him as the frail birch headed out into the big lake. Their steady strokes sent the canoe through the water at fully four miles an hour, and by the time broad day had come the forest-clad shore at Wabinosh House was only a hazy outline in the distance. The white youth's unspoken fears were dispelled when the sun rose, warm and glorious, over the shimmering lake, driving the chill from the air, and seeming to bring with it the sweet scents of the forests far away. Joyfully he labored at his paddle, the mere exhilaration of the morning filling his arms with the strength of a young giant. Wabi whistled and sang wild snatches of Indian song by turns, Rod joined him withYankee Doodle and The Star Spangled Banner , and even the silent Mukoki gave a whoop now and then to show that he was as happy as they.
One thought filled the minds of all. They were fairly started on that most thrilling of all trails, the trail of gold. In their possession was the secret of a great fortune. Romance, adventure, discovery, awaited them. The big, silent North, mysterious in its age-old desolation, where even the winds seemed to whisper of strange things that had happened countless years before, was just ahead of them. They were about to bury themselves in its secrets, to wrest from it the yellow treasure it guarded, and their blood tingled and leaped excitedly at the thought. What would be revealed to them? What might they not discover? What strange adventures were they destined to encounter in that Unknown World, peopled only by the things of the wild, that stretched trackless and unexplored before them? A hundred thoughts like these fired the brains of the three adventurers, and made their work a play, and every breath they drew one of joy.
The lake was alive with ducks. Huge flocks of big black ducks, mallards, blue bills and whistlers rose about them, and now and then, when an unusually large flock was seen floating upon the water ahead of them, one of the three would take a pot-shot with his rifle. Rod and Mukoki had each killed two, and Wabi three, when the old warrior stopped the fun.
“No waste too much shooting on ducks,” he advised. “Need shells—big game.”
Several times during the morning the three rested from their exertions, and at noon they ceased paddling for more than an hour while they ate the generous dinner that had been put up for them at Wabinosh House. The farther side of the lake was now plainly visible, and when the journey was resumed all eyes eagerly sought for signs of the mouth of the Ombabika, where their stirring adventures of the winter before had begun. For some time Wabi's gaze had been fixed upon a long, white rim along the shore, to which he now called his companions' attention.
“It seems to be moving,” he said, turning to Mukoki. “Is it possible—” He paused doubtfully.
“What?” questioned Rod.
“That it's swans!” he completed.
“Swans!” cried the young hunter. “Great Scott, do you mean to say there could be enough swans—”
“They sometimes cover the lake in thousands,” said Wabi. “I have seen them whitening the water as far as one could see.”
“More swan as you count in twent' t'ous'nd year!” affirmed Mukoki. After a few moments he added, “Them no swan. Ice!”