He could see Mukoki, now hardly more than a moving speck on the edge of the plain; northward the same fascinating, never-ending wilderness rolled away under his eyes; eastward, two miles away, he saw a moving object which he knew was a moose or a caribou; and westward-- Instinctively his eyes sought the location of their camp.

Instantly the expectant light went out of his face.

He gave an involuntary cry of horror, and there followed it a single, unheard shriek for Mukoki.
Over the spot where he knew their camp to be now rose a huge volume of smoke.

The sky was black with it, and in the terrible moment that followed his piercing cry for Mukoki he fancied that he heard the sound of rifle-shots.
"Mukoki! Mukoki!" he shouted.
The old Indian was beyond hearing.

Quickly it occurred to Rod that early in their trip they had arranged rifle signals for calling help--two quick shots, and then, after a moment's interval, three others in rapid succession.
He threw his rifle to his shoulder and fired into the air; once, twice--and then three times as fast as he could press the trigger.
As he watched Mukoki he reloaded.