“This is big un!” he greeted.  “Mak’ much noise, much swift water!”

“Hurrah!” yelled Rod for the twentieth time, jumping up and down in his excitement.

“Hurrah!” cried Wabi.

And Mukoki chuckled, and grinned, and rubbed his leathery hands together in high glee.

At last, when they had somewhat cooled down, Wabi said: 

“That John Ball was a pretty poor fellow at a guess, eh?  What do you say, Rod?”

“Or else pretty clever,” added Rod.  “By George, I wonder if he had a reason for making his scale fifty miles or so out of the way?”

Wabi looked at him, only partly understanding.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that our third waterfall is more than likely to be mighty close to this one!  And if it is—­well, John Ball had a reason, and a good one!  If we strike the last fall to-morrow it will be pretty good proof that he drew the map in a way intended to puzzle somebody,—­perhaps his two partners, who were just about to start for civilization.”

“Muky, how far have we come?” asked Wabigoon.

“T’ree time first fall,” replied the old Indian quickly.

“A hundred and fifty miles—­in three days and one night.  I don’t believe that is far out of the way.  Then, according to the map, we should still be a hundred miles from the third fall.”

“And we’re not more than twenty-five!” declared Rod confidently.  “Let’s build a fire and go to bed.  We’ll have enough to do to-morrow—­hunting gold!” The fourth day’s journey was begun before it was yet light.  Breakfast was eaten in the glow of the camp-fire, and by the time dawn broke the adventurers were already an hour upon their way.  Nothing but confidence now, animated them.  The mad hunter and his golden bullets were entirely forgotten in these last hours of their exciting quest.  Once, far back, Rod had thought with chilling dread that this might be the madman’s trail, that his golden bullets might come from the treasure they were seeking.  But he gave no thought to this possibility now.  His own belief that the third and last fall was not far distant, in spite of the evidence of the map, gradually gained possession of his companions, and the nerves of all three were keyed to the highest tension of expectancy.  The preceding night Mukoki had made himself a paddle to replace the one he had broken, and not a stroke of the three pairs of arms was lost.  Early in the morning a young moose allowed them to pass within a hundred yards of him.  But no shot was fired, for to obtain the meat would have meant an hour’s loss of time.