Chapter 8. How Wolf Became The Companion Of Men

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_ CHAPTER VIII. HOW WOLF BECAME THE COMPANION OF MEN

Twice that night Rod was awakened by Mukoki opening the cabin door. The second time he raised himself upon his elbows and quietly watched the old warrior. It was a brilliantly clear night and a flood of moonlight was pouring into the camp. He could hear Mukoki chuckling and grunting, as though communicating with himself, and at last, his curiosity getting the better of him, he wrapped his blanket about him and joined the Indian at the door.

Mukoki was peering up into space. Rod followed his gaze. The moon was directly above the cabin. The sky was clear of clouds and so bright was the light that objects on the farther side of the lake were plainly visible.

Besides, it was bitter cold--so cold that his face began to tingle as he stood there. These things he noticed, but he could see nothing to hold Mukoki's vision in the sky above unless it was the glorious beauty of the night.

"What is it, Mukoki?" he asked.

The old Indian looked silently at him for a moment, some mysterious, all-absorbing joy revealed in every lineament of his face.

"Wolf night!" he whispered.

He looked back to where Wabi was sleeping.

"Wolf night!" he repeated, and slipped like a shadow to the side of the unconscious young hunter. Rod regarded his actions with growing wonder. He saw him bend over Wabi, shake him by the shoulders, and heard him repeat again, "Wolf night! Wolf night!"

Wabi awoke and sat up in his blankets, and Mukoki came back to the door. He had dressed himself before this, and now, with his rifle, slipped out into the night. The young Indian had joined Rod at the open door and together they watched Mukoki's gaunt figure as it sped swiftly across the lake, up the hill and over into the wilderness desolation beyond.

When Rod looked at Wabi he saw that the Indian boy's eyes were wide and staring, with an expression in them that was something between fright and horror. Without speaking he went to the table and lighted the candles and then dressed. When he was done his face still bore traces of suppressed excitement.

He ran back to the door and whistled loudly. From his shelter beside the cabin the captive wolf responded with a snarling whine. Again he whistled, a dozen times, twenty, but there came no reply. More swiftly than Mukoki the Indian youth sped across the lake and to the summit of the hill. Mukoki had completely disappeared in the white, brilliant vastness of the wilderness that stretched away at his feet.

When Wabi returned to the cabin Rod had a fire roaring in the stove. He seated himself beside it, holding out a pair of hands blue with cold.

"Ugh! It's an awful night!" he shivered.

He laughed across at Rod, a little uneasily, but with the old light back in his eyes. Suddenly he asked:

"Did Minnetaki ever tell you--anything--queer--about Mukoki, Rod?"

"Nothing more than you have told me yourself."

"Well, once in a great while Mukoki has--not exactly a fit, but a little mad spell! I have never determined to my own satisfaction whether he is really out of his head or not. Sometimes I think he is and sometimes I think he is not. But the Indians at the Post believe that at certain times he goes crazy over wolves."

"Wolves!" exclaimed Rod.

"Yes, wolves. And he has good reason. A good many years ago, just about when you and I were born, Mukoki had a wife and child. My mother and others at the Post say that he was especially gone over the kid. He wouldn't hunt like other Indians, but would spend whole days at his shack playing with it and teaching it to do things; and when he did go hunting he would often tote it on his back, even when it wasn't much more than a squalling papoose. He was the happiest Indian at the Post, and one of the poorest. One day Mukoki came to the Post with a little bundle of fur, and most of the things he got in exchange for it, mother says, were for the kid. He reached the store at night and expected to leave for home the next noon, which would bring him to his camp before dark. But something delayed him and he didn't get started until the morning after. Meanwhile, late in the afternoon of the day when he was to have been home, his wife bundled up the kid and they set out to meet him. Well--"

A weird howl from the captive wolf interrupted Wabi for a moment.

"Well, they went on and on, and of course did not meet him. And then, the people at the Post say, the mother must have slipped and hurt herself. Anyway, when Mukoki came over the trail the next day he found them half eaten by wolves. From that day on Mukoki was a different Indian. He became the greatest wolf hunter in all these regions. Soon after the tragedy he came to the Post to live and since then he has not left Minnetaki and me. Once in a great while when the night is just right, when the moon is shining and it is bitter cold, Mukoki seems to go a little mad. He calls this a 'wolf night.' No one can stop him from going out; no one can get him to talk; he will allow no one to accompany him when in such a mood. He will walk miles and miles to-night. But he will come back. And when he returns he will be as sane as you and I, and if you ask him where he has been he will say that he went out to see if he could get a shot at something."

Rod had listened in rapt attention. To him, as Wabi proceeded with his story of the tragedy in Mukoki's life, the old Indian was transformed into another being. No longer was he a mere savage reclaimed a little from the wilderness. There had sprung up in Rod's breast a great, human, throbbing sympathy for him, and in the dim candle-glow his eyes glistened with a dampness which he made no attempt to conceal.

"What does Mukoki mean by 'wolf night'?" he asked.

"Muky is a wizard when it comes to hunting wolves," Wabi went on. "He has studied them and thought of them every day of his life for nearly twenty years. He knows more about wolves than all the rest of the hunters in this country together. He can catch them in every trap he sets, which no other trapper in the world can do; he can tell you a hundred different things about a certain wolf simply by its track, and because of his wonderful knowledge he can tell, by some instinct that is almost supernatural, when a 'wolf night' comes. Something in the air to-night, something in the sky--in the moon--in the very way the wilderness looks, tells him that stray wolves in the plains and hills are 'packing' or banding together to-night, and that in the morning the sun will be shining, and they will be on the sunny sides of the mountains. See if I am not right. To-morrow night, if Mukoki comes back by then, we shall have some exciting sport with the wolves, and then you will see how Wolf out there does his work!"

There followed several minutes of silence. The fire roared up the chimney, the stove glowed red hot and the boys sat and looked and listened. Rod took out his watch. It lacked only ten minutes of midnight. Yet neither seemed possessed with a desire to return to their interrupted sleep.

"Wolf is a curious beast," mused Wabi softly. "You might think he was a sneaking, traitorous cur of a wolf to turn against his own breed and lure them to death. But he isn't. Wolf, as well as Mukoki, has good cause for what he does. You might call it animal vengeance. Did you ever notice that a half of one of his ears is gone? And if you thrust back his head you will find a terrible sear in his throat, and from his left side just back of the fore leg a chunk of flesh half as big as my hand has been torn away. We caught Wolf in a lynx trap, Mukoki and I. He wasn't much more than a whelp then--about six months old, Mukoki said. And while he was in the trap, helpless and unable to defend himself, three or four of his lovely tribe jumped upon him and tried to kill him for breakfast. We hove in sight just in time to drive the cannibals off. We kept Wolf, sewed up his side and throat, tamed him--and to-morrow night you will see how Mukoki has taught him to get even with his people."

It was two hours later when Rod and Wabigoon extinguished the candles and returned to their blankets. And for another hour after that the former found it impossible to sleep. He wondered where Mukoki was--wondered what he was doing, and how in his strange madness he found his way in the trackless wilderness.

When he finally fell asleep it was to dream of the Indian mother and her child; only after a little there was no child, and the woman changed into Minnetaki, and the ravenous wolves into men. From this unpleasant picture he was aroused by a series of prods in his side, and opening his eyes he beheld Wabi in his blankets a yard away, pointing over and beyond him and nodding his head. Rod looked, and caught his breath.

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.

At the foot of this hill Mukoki and his companion struck the creek. They had not progressed more than fifty rods when the old Indian stopped and pointed at a fallen log which spanned the stream. The snow on this log was beaten by tiny footprints. Mukoki gazed a moment, cast an observant eye along the trail, and at once threw off his pack.

"Mink!" he explained. He crossed the frozen creek, taking care not to touch the log. On the opposite side the tracks spread out over a windfall of trees. "Whole family mink live here," continued Mukoki. "T'ree--mebby four--mebby five. Build trap-house right here!"

Never before had Rod seen a trap set as the old Indian now set his. Very near the end of the log over which the mink made their trail he quickly built a shelter of sticks which when completed was in the form of a tiny wigwam. At the back of this was placed a chunk of the caribou meat, and in front of this bait, so that an animal would have to spring it in passing, was set a trap, carefully covered with snow and a few leaves. Within twenty minutes Mukoki had built two of these shelters and had set two traps.

"Why do you build those little houses?" asked Rod, as they again took up their trail.

"Much snow come in winter," elucidated the Indian. "Build house to keep snow off traps. No do that, be digging out traps all winter. When mink--heem smell meat--go in house he got to go over trap. Make house for all small animal like heem. No good for lynx. He see house--walk roun' 'n' roun' 'n' roun'--and then go 'way. Smart fellow--lynx. Wolf and fox, too."

"Is a mink worth much?"

"Fi' dollar--no less that. Seven--eight dollar for good one."

During the next mile six other mink traps were set. The creek now ran along the edge of a high rocky ridge and Mukoki's eyes began to shine with a new interest. No longer did he seem entirely absorbed in the discovery of signs of fur animals. His eyes were constantly scanning the sun-bathed side of the ridge ahead and his progress was slow and cautious. He spoke in whispers, and Rod followed his example. Frequently the two would stop and scan the openings for signs of life. Twice they set fox traps where there were evident signs of runways; in a wild ravine, strewn with tumbled trees and masses of rock, they struck a lynx track and set a trap for him at each end of the ravine; but even during these operations Mukoki's interest was divided. The hunters now walked abreast, about fifty yards apart, Rod never forging a foot ahead of the cautious Mukoki. Suddenly the youth heard a low call and he saw his companion beckoning to him with frantic enthusiasm.

"Wolf!" whispered Mukoki as Rod joined him.

In the snow were a number of tracks that reminded Rod of those made by a dog.

"T'ree wolf!" continued the Indian jubilantly. "Travel early this morning. Somewhere in warm sun on mountain!"

They followed now in the wolf trail. A little way on Rod found part of the carcass of a rabbit with fox tracks about it. Here Mukoki set another trap. A little farther still they came across a fisher trail and another trap was laid. Caribou and deer tracks crossed and recrossed the creek, but the Indian paid little attention to them. A fourth wolf joined the pack, and a fifth, and half an hour later the trail of three other wolves cut at right angles across the one they were following and disappeared in the direction of the thickly timbered plains. Mukoki's face was crinkled with joy.

"Many wolf near," he exclaimed. "Many wolf off there 'n' off there 'n' off there. Good place for night hunt."

Soon the creek swung out from the ridge and cut a circuitous channel through a small swamp. Here there were signs of wild life which set Rod's heart thumping and his blood tingling with excitement. In places the snow was literally packed with deer tracks. Trails ran in every direction, the bark had been rubbed from scores of saplings, and every step gave fresh evidence of the near presence of game. The stealth with which Mukoki now advanced was almost painful. Every twig was pressed behind him noiselessly, and once when Rod struck his snow-shoe against the butt of a small tree the old Indian held up his hands in mock horror. Ten minutes, fifteen--twenty of them passed in this cautious, breathless trailing of the swamp.

Suddenly Mukoki stopped, and a hand was held out behind him warningly. He turned his face back, and Rod knew that he saw game. Inch by inch he crouched upon his snow-shoes, and beckoned for Rod to approach, slowly, quietly. When the boy had come near enough he passed back his rifle, and his lips formed the almost noiseless word, "Shoot!"

Tremblingly Rod seized the gun and looked into the swamp ahead, Mukoki doubling down in front of him. What he saw sent him for a moment into the first nervous tremor of buck fever. Not more than a hundred yards away stood a magnificent buck browsing the tips of a clump of hazel, and just beyond him were two does. With a powerful effort Rod steadied himself. The buck was standing broadside, his head and neck stretched up, offering a beautiful shot at the vital spot behind his fore leg. At this the young hunter aimed and fired. With one spasmodic bound the animal dropped dead.

Hardly had Rod seen the effect of his shot before Mukoki was traveling swiftly toward the fallen game, unstrapping his pack as he ran. By the time the youth reached his quarry the old Indian had produced a large whisky flask holding about a quart. Without explanation he now proceeded to thrust his knife into the quivering animal's throat and fill this flask with blood. When he had finished his task he held it up with an air of unbounded satisfaction.

"Blood for wolf. Heem like blood. Smell um--come make big shoot to-night. No blood, no bait--no wolf shoot!"

Mukoki no longer maintained his usual quiet, and it was evident to Rod that the Indian considered his mission for that day practically accomplished. After taking the heart, liver and one of the hind quarters of the buck Mukoki drew a long rope of babeesh from his pack, tied one end of it around the animal's neck, flung the other end over a near limb, and with his companion's assistance hoisted the carcass until it was clear of the ground.

"If somethin' happen we no come back to-night heem safe from wolf," he explained.

The two now continued through the swamp. At its farther edge the ground rose gently from the creek toward the hills, and this sloping plain was covered with huge boulders and a thin growth of large spruce and birch. Just beyond the creek was a gigantic rock which immediately caught Mukoki's attention. All sides except one were too precipitous for ascent, and even this one could not be climbed without the assistance of a sapling or two. They could see, however, that the top of the, rock was flat, and Mukoki called attention to this fact with an exultant chuckle.

"Fine place for wolf hunt!" he exclaimed. "Many wolf off there in swamp an' in hill. We call heem here. Shoot from there!" He pointed to a clump of spruce a dozen rods away.

By Rod's watch it was now nearly noon and the two sat down to eat the sandwiches they had brought with them. Only a few minutes were lost in taking up the home trail. Beyond the swamp Mukoki cut at right angles to their trap-line until he had ascended to the top of the ridge that had been on their right and which would take them very near their camp. From this ridge Rod could look about him upon a wild and rugged scene. On one side it sloped down to the plains, but on the other it fell in almost sheer walls, forming at its base five hundred feet below a narrow and gloomy chasm, through which a small stream found its way. Several times Mukoki stopped and leaned perilously close to the dizzy edge of the mountain, peering down with critical eyes, and once when he pulled himself back cautiously by means of a small sapling he explained his interest by saying:

"Plenty bear there in spring!"

But Rod was not thinking of bears. Once more his head was filled with the thought of gold. Perhaps that very chasm held the priceless secret that had died with its owners half a century ago. The dark and gloomy silence that hung between those two walls of rock, the death-like desolation, the stealthy windings of the creek--everything in that dim and mysterious world between the two mountains, unshattered by sound and impenetrable to the winter sun, seemed in his mind to link itself with the tragedy of long ago.

Did that chasm hold the secret of the dead men?

Again and again Rod found himself asking this question as he followed Mukoki, and the oftener he asked it the nearer he seemed to an answer, until at last, with a curious, thrilling certainty that set his blood tingling he caught Mukoki by the arm and pointing back, said:

"Mukoki--the gold was found between those mountains!" _

Read next: Chapter 9. Wolf Takes Vengeance Upon His People

Read previous: Chapter 7. Roderick Discovers The Buckskin Bag

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