This solution of the difficulty lifted a dampening burden from Rod's heart, and when the little party began its descent into the wilderness regions under the mountain the city lad carried the rifle, for Wabi insisted that he have the first "turn." Once free of the rock-strewn ridge the two boys joined forces in pulling the toboggan while Mukoki struck out a trail ahead of them.

As it became lighter Rod found his eyes glued with keen interest to Mukoki's snow-shoes, and for the first time in his life he realized what it really meant to "make a trail." The old Indian was the most famous trailmaker as well as the keenest trailer of his tribe, and in the comparatively open bottoms through which they were now traveling he was in his element.

His strides were enormous, and with each stride he threw up showers of snow, leaving a broad level path behind him in which the snow was packed by his own weight, so that when Wabi and Rod came to follow him they were not impeded by sinking into a soft surface.
Half a mile from the mountain Mukoki stopped and waited for the others to come up to him.
"Moose!" he called, pointing at a curious track in the snow.
Rod leaned eagerly over the track.
"The snow is still crumbling and falling where he stepped," said Wabi.
"Watch that little chunk, Rod.

See--it's slipping--down--down--there! It was an old bull--a big fellow--and he passed here less than an hour ago." Signs of the night carnival of the wild things now became more and more frequent as the hunters advanced.

They crossed and recrossed the trail of a fox; and farther on they discovered where this little pirate of darkness had slaughtered a big white rabbit.