These two hunters gradually drew closer to the islet, toward which ran the trail in a direct and undeviating line; that actual hunger drove them to follow such a trail was evident in their gaunt and famished aspect. Their eyes searched the jutting mass of ice and rock with sharp suspicion and wonder. To all appearance the islet was empty of life. Now the leading warrior drew near to the ice-rimmed shore, his brown features wrinkled by some indefinable perplexity, by a half-sensed warning. He came to the fantastic line of icy hummocks, looked down to be sure the caribou trail led into them, then slowly strode in among their masses. He vanished instantly. The second warrior stopped short, uttered a low word, put hand to fusil. Something flashed red in the air, a streak of vivid scarlet cutting athwart the blue sky. The Sauteur clutched at his throat and toppled over; he lay motionless, dead ere he struck the ice, the shaft of a crimson arrow protruding from his gullet. Some little time elapsed. Then, although no sign of living men appeared, there was a movement at the islet’s verge--something uncoiled, mounted in the air. Out toward the prostrate figure shot a thin hide rope, unlooping and flying with the certainty of a darting snake. Its noose caught on the upturned foot of the dead man. The rope drew taut, the body slowly slid in toward the shore, still tightly gripping the fusil, and there vanished from sight. All was silent again, motionless, breathless. Presently, at a point around the lake shore where the fringe of trees opened out a little, thirteen men appeared. They doffed snowshoes and made camp, their fire-smoke rising greyly against the sky. Three of these were white men, the others Assiniboines or Stone Men; and almost immediately these latter scattered out to hunt, leaving Crawford and Frontin alone with Maclish. The three stood gazing about, scanning the lake, the quiet sky, the silent trees. “No sign of ’em,” said the Scot, scratching his pointed red beard. His whitish eyes probed the shores around, and the treetops. “Likely they’ll come to us when they see our smoke. Let’s find some wet wood and make a good signal.” The three turned in among the trees. After a time, at another point around the lake, a man emerged upon the ice. He, too, was following the trail of sharp hooves; it was quite singular that such a trail should have been left, running straight to the little islet, and so he found it. He was the Assiniboine chief, and alone. Had he known that there were more than one of these caribou trails, all converging on the islet, each made with great cunning to simulate the stagger of a hurt or wounded beast, he might not have followed on--but he perceived only the one trail.