The young gold seeker’s first look about him was disappointing.  Nothing but the bare walls met his eyes.  Then, in the farthest corner, he observed something that in the dancing torch-light was darker than the logs themselves, and he moved toward it.  It was a tiny shelf, not more than a foot long, and upon it was a small tin box, black and rust-eaten by the passing of ages.  With trembling fingers Rod took it in his hand.  It was very light, probably empty.  In it he might find the dust of John Ball’s last tobacco.  Then, suddenly, as he thought of this, he stopped in his search and a muffled exclamation of surprise fell from him.  In the glow of the torch he looked at the tin box.  It was crumbling with age and he might easily have crushed it in his hand—­and yet it was still a tin box!  If this box had remained why had not other things?  Where were the pans and kettles, the pail and frying-pan, knives, cups and other articles which John Ball and the two Frenchmen must at one time have possessed in this cabin?

He returned to the door.  Mukoki and Wabigoon were still at the dead stub.  Even the flare of light in the old cabin had not attracted them.  Tossing his torch away Rod tore off the top of the tin box.  Something fell at his feet, and as he reached for it he saw that it was a little roll of paper, almost as discolored as the rust-eaten box itself.  As gently as Mukoki had unrolled the precious birchbark map a few months before he smoothed out the paper.  The edges of it broke and crumbled under his fingers, but the inner side of the roll was still quite white.  Mukoki and Wabigoon, looking back, saw him suddenly turn toward them with a shrill cry on his lips, and the next instant he was racing in their direction, shouting wildly at every step.

“The gold!” he shrieked.  “The gold!  Hurrah!”

He was almost sobbing in his excitement when he stopped between them, holding out the bit of paper.

“I found it in the cabin—­in a tin box!  See, it’s John Ball’s writing—­the writing that was on the old map!  I found it—­in a tin box—­”

Wabi seized the paper.  His own breath came more quickly when he saw what was upon it.  There were a few lines of writing, dim but still legible, and a number of figures.  Across the top of the paper was written,

“Account of John Ball, Henri Langlois, and Peter Plante for month ending June thirtieth, 1859.”

Below these lines was the following: 

“Plante’s work:  nuggets, 7 pounds, nine ounces; dust, 1 pound, 3
ounces.  Langlois’ work:  nuggets, 9 pounds, 13 ounces; dust, none. 
Ball’s work:  nuggets, 6 pounds, 4 ounces; dust, 2 pounds, 3 ounces. 
Total, 27 pounds. 
Plante’s share, 6 pounds, 12 ounces. 
Langlois’ share, 6 pounds, 12 ounces. 
Ball’s share, 13 pounds, 8 ounces. 
Division made.”

Softly Wabigoon read the words aloud.  When he finished his eyes met Rod’s, Mukoki was still crouching at the foot of the stub, staring at the two boys in silence, as if stupefied by what he had just heard.