Mile after mile we plowed along, from patch to patch of forest, and still the deep tracks of the giant beast led us onward. The fresh-fallen snow had made heavy going for him, since at each step he plunged through to his knees. The Crees might consider that he walked on the wind, but for my own part I thought him a feckless creature to leave the shelter of the Hills in such a storm. And in that thought I neglected the workings of Providence, as I later admitted readily enough.
The trail presently led us to a fairly large river, and out across the ice. The other bank was bordered with thick trees, and as we neared them I turned to The Crane and smiled.
"If the Mighty One walked on the storm, Uchichak, it looks as though men had also been able to walk there."
But the Indians had already caught sight of the dark trail on the farther shore, and with a guttural exclamation of surprise we all dashed forward. There in the shelter of the trees the snow was not so deep, and the tracks of the Mighty One led us straight to a deep trail plowed in the snow, where they were lost.
"Are they other hunters from the village?" I asked in my ignorance. The two Crees kicked away their snowshoes and crept about examining the trail, while I leaned on my bow. It was plain enough that the Moose had gone forward in this path, where the snow had been worn away and packed deep for him, whereat I began to think better of his sense.
Uchichak straightened up suddenly, and at sight of his face I knew that something was wrong—terribly wrong. His usual stolidity had given place to rage and grief, and he turned to me with a flame in his dark eyes.
"My brother, we must hasten to the village at once. Men have come and gone, and they are not of our own people."
Still I realized nothing of what he meant, although his face sobered me.
"Then do you go," I returned, "while I continue on the trail of the Mighty One—" But Wapistan had sprung to my side, eager and wrathful.
"Brave Eyes cannot read the trail," he cried sharply. "See, here have gone many men—two or three tens of men. Their tracks lead away from the village, and with them goes a dog-sled. They travel toward the Ghost Hills, and their snowshoes are of Chippewa make. Let us hasten, my brothers!"