He paused, whistling softly.

“Where is the third waterfall?”

“I thought we settled that last winter,” replied Rod, a little irritated by his companion’s doubt.  “If writing goes for anything, Ball was a man of education, and he drew the map according to some sort of scale.  The second fall is only half as far from the first fall as the third fall is from the second, which is conclusive evidence of this.  Now Mukoki discovered the first waterfall fifty miles down the chasm!”

“And we figured from the distances between John Ball’s marks on the birch, that the third fall was about two hundred and fifty miles from our old camp at the head of the chasm,” rejoined Wabigoon.  “It looks reasonable.”

“It is reasonable,” declared Rod, his face flushed with excitement.  “From the head of the chasm our trail is as plain as day.  We can’t miss it!”

Mukoki had been listening in silence, and now joined in the conversation for the first time.

“Must get to chasm first,” he grunted, giving his shoulders a hunch that suggested a great deal.

Wabi returned the map to his pocket.

“You’re right, Muky,” he laughed.  “We’re climbing mountains before we come to them.  It will be tough work getting to the chasm.”

“Much water—­ver’ swift.  River run lak twent’ t’ous’nd cari-boo!”

“I’ll bet the Ombabika is a raging torrent,” said Rod.

“And we’ve got forty miles of it, all upstream,” replied Wabi.  “Then we come to the Height of Land.  After that the streams run northward, to Hudson Bay, and when we reach them we’ll hold our breath and pray instead of paddling.  Oh, it will be exciting fun rushing down-stream on the floods!”

“But there is work before us to-morrow—­hard work,” said Rod.  “And I’m going to bed.  Good night!”

Mukoki and Wabigoon soon followed their companion’s example, and half an hour later nothing but the crackling of the fire disturbed the stillness of the camp.  Mukoki was as regular as clockwork in his rising, and an hour before dawn he was up and preparing breakfast.  When his young comrades aroused themselves they found the ducks they had shot the preceding day roasting on spits over the fire, and coffee nearly ready.  Rod also noticed that a part of the contents of the canoe were missing.

“Took load up to river,” explained Mukoki in response to the youth’s questioning.

“Working while we sleep, as usual,” exclaimed the disgusted Wabigoon.  “If it keeps on we’ll deserve another whipping, Rod!”

Mukoki examined a fat bluebill, roasted to a rich brown, and gave it to Rod.  Another he handed to Wabigoon, and with a third in his own hands he found a seat for himself upon the ground close to the coffee and bread.

“Ah, if this isn’t fit for a king!” cried Rod, poising his savory bluebill on the end of a fork.