“No lynx,” said Mukoki, his face darkening.

“Shame on you, Muky!” laughed Wabigoon.  “Don’t get angry.  I won’t say it again if it makes you mad.”

Rod had drawn his hunting-knife and was prodding the point of it in the bullet hole.

“I can feel the ball,” he said.  “It’s not in more than an inch.”

“That’s curious,” exclaimed Wabigoon, coming close beside him.  “It ought to be half-way through the tree at least!  Eh, Muky?  I don’t believe it would have hurt—­”

He stopped.  Rod had turned with a sudden excited cry.  He held out his knife, tip upward, and pointed to it with the index finger of his free hand.  Wabi’s eyes fell on the tip of the blade.  Mukoki stared.  For a full half minute the three stood in speechless amazement.  Clinging to the knife tip was a tiny fleck of yellow, gleaming lustrously in the sun as Rod slowly turned the handle of his weapon.

“Another—­gold—­bullet!”

The words fell from Wabi’s lips very slowly, and so low that they were scarce above a whisper.  Mukoki seemed to have ceased breathing.  Rod’s eyes met the old warrior’s.

“What does it mean?”

Wabi had pulled his knife and was digging into the tree.  A few deep cuts and the golden bullet lay exposed to view.

“What does it mean?” repeated the white youth.

Again he addressed his question to Mukoki.

“Man who shoot bear—­heem no dead,” replied the old pathfinder.  “Same gun, same gold, same—­”

“Same what?”

A strange gleam came for an instant into Mukoki’s eyes, and without finishing he turned and pointed across the narrow plain that lay between them and the mysterious chasm which they were to follow in their search for treasure.

“Cry went there!” he said shortly.

“To the chasm!” said Wabi.

“To the chasm!” repeated Rod.

Impelled by the same thought the three adventurers went toward the rocks from which the shot had been fired.  Surely they would discover some sign there, or lower down upon the plain, where the melting snows had softened the earth.  Mukoki led in the search, and foot by foot they examined the spot where the mysterious marksman must have stood when he sent his golden bullet so close to the Indian’s head.

But not a trace of his presence had he left behind.  Working abreast, the three began the descent of the ridge.  Hardly had they covered a third of the distance to the plain when Wabi, who was trailing between Rod and the old Indian, called out that he had made a discovery.  Mukoki had already reached him when Rod came up, and the two were gazing silently at something fluttering from a bush.

“Lynx hair!” cried Rod.  “A lynx has been this way!” He could not entirely conceal the triumph in his voice.  He had been right in his conjecture of the night before, the cry that had frightened Mukoki had been made by a lynx!