Mukoki aroused himself from his short sleep with the first approach of dawn but did not awaken his tired companions until breakfast was ready. When the meal was finished he seized his gun and signified his intention of visiting the mink traps just beyond the hill before leaving on his long day's trail. Rod at once joined him, leaving Wabi to wash the dishes.
They were shortly within view of the trap-houses near the creek. Instinctively the eyes of both rested upon these houses and neither gave very close attention to the country ahead or about them. As a result both were exceedingly startled when they heard a huge snort and a great crunching in the deep snow close beside them. From out of a small growth of alders had dashed a big bull moose, who was now tearing with the speed of a horse up the hillside toward the hidden camp, evidently seeking the quick shelter of the dip.
"Wait heem git top of hill!" shouted Mukoki, swinging his rifle to his shoulder. "Wait!"
It was a beautiful shot and Rod was tempted to ignore the old Indian's advice. But he knew that there was some good reason for it, so he held his trembling finger. Hardly had the animal's huge antlered head risen to the sky-line when Mukoki shouted again, and the young hunter pressed the trigger of his automatic gun three times in rapid succession. It was a short shot, not more than two hundred yards, and Mukoki fired but once just as the bull mounted the hilltop.
The next instant the moose was gone and Rod was just about to dash in pursuit when his companion caught him by the arm.
"We got um!" he grinned. "He run downhill, then fall—ver' close to camp. Ver' good scheme—wait heem git on top hill. No have to carry meat far!"
As coolly as though nothing had occurred the Indian turned again in the direction of the traps. Rod stood as though he had been nailed to the spot, his mouth half open in astonishment.
"We go see traps," urged Mukoki. "Find moose dead when we go back."
But Roderick Drew, who had hunted nothing larger than house rats in his own city, was not the young man to see the logic of this reasoning, and before Mukoki could open his mouth again he was hurrying up the hill. On its summit he saw a huge torn-up blotch in the snow, spattered with blood, where the moose had fallen first after the shots; and at the foot of the hill, as the Indian had predicted, the great animal lay dead.
Wabi was hastening across the lake, attracted by the shots, and both reached the slain bull at about the same time. Rod quickly perceived that three shots had taken effect; one, which was undoubtedly Mukoki's carefully directed ball, in a vital spot behind the fore leg, and two through the body. The fact that two of his own shots had taken good effect filled the white youth with enthusiasm, and he was still gesticulating excitedly in describing the bull's flight to Wabi when the old Indian came over the hill, grinning broadly, and holding up for their inspection a magnificent mink.