For his lack of luck Rod had his story to tell of the people on the trail.

The passing of this party formed the chief topic of conversation during the rest of the day, for after weeks of isolation in the wilderness even this momentary nearness of living civilized men and women was a great event to them.

But there was one fact which Rod dwelt but slightly upon.
He did not emphasize the similarity of the pretty footprint and that made by Minnetaki's moccasin, for he knew that a betrayal of his knowledge and admiration of the Indian maiden's feet would furnish Wabi with fun-making ammunition for a week.

He did say, however, that the footprint in the snow struck him as being just about the size that Minnetaki would make.
All that day and night the hunters remained in camp, sleeping, eating and taking care of Mukoki's wound, but the next morning saw them ready for their homeward journey with the coming of dawn.

They struck due westward now, satisfied that they were well beyond the range of the outlaw Woongas.
As the boys talked over their adventure on the long journey back toward the Post, Wabi thought with regret of the moose head which he had left buried in the "Indian ice-box," and even wished, for a moment, to go home by the northern trail, despite the danger from the hostile Woongas, in order to recover the valuable antlers.