Rod groaned as he rose to his feet after Wabi had stopped.

"Oh, please--please give me that whip!" "Not too hard, you know," warned Wabi, as he fitted himself over the log.
"You chose your own poison," reminded Rod, rolling up his sleeve.
"Just twice as hard, no more!" And the birch began to fall.
When it was over Rod's arm ached, and Wabi, despite his Indian stoicism, let out a long howl at the last blow.
During the entire scene of chastisement Mukoki stood like one struck dumb.
"We'll never be bad any more, Muky," promised Wabigoon, rubbing himself gently.

"That is, if we are, we'll whip ourselves again, eh, Rod ?" "Not so long as I can run!" assured Rod with emphasis.

"I'm willing to lend a helping hand at any time you think you deserve another, but beyond that please count me out!" For an hour after the self-punishment of the young gold hunters the three gathered fuel for the night and balsam boughs for their beds.

It was dark by the time they sat down to their supper, which they ate in the light of a huge fire of dry poplar.
"This is better than paddling all night, even if we did have a close shave," said Rod, after they had finished and settled themselves comfortably.
Wabi gave a grimace and shrugged his shoulders.
"Do you know how close your call was ?" he asked.