“And by autumn—­” began Rod.

He was interrupted by the inimitable chuckling laugh of Mukoki and found the old warrior’s face a map of creases and grimaces.

“In twent’ t’ous’nd moon—­mak’ heem how much?” he questioned.

In all his life Wabigoon had never heard Mukoki joke before, and with a wild whoop of joy he rolled the stoical old pathfinder off the rock on which he was sitting, and Rod joined heartily in Wabi’s merriment.

And Mukoki’s question proved not to be so much of a joke after all, as the boys were soon to learn.  For several days the work went on uninterrupted.  The buckskin bags in the balsam shelter grew heavier and heavier.  Each succeeding hour added to the visions of the gold seekers.  On the fifth day Rod found seventeen nuggets among his fine gold, one of them as large as the end of his thumb.  On the seventh came the richest of all their panning, but on the ninth a startling thing happened.  Mukoki was compelled to work ceaselessly to keep the two boys supplied with “pay dirt” from the pool.  His improvised dredge now brought up only a handful or two of sand and pebbles at a dip.  It was on this ninth day that the truth dawned upon them all.

The pool was becoming exhausted of its treasure!

But the discovery brought no great gloom with it.  Somewhere near that pool must be the very source of the treasure itself, and the gold hunters were confident of finding it.  Besides, they had already accumulated what to them was a considerable fortune, at least two thousand dollars apiece.  For three more days the work continued, and then Mukoki’s dredge no longer brought up pebbles or sand from the bottom of the pool.

The last pan was washed early in the morning, and as the warm weather had begun to taint the caribou meat Mukoki and Wabigoon left immediately after dinner to secure fresh meat out on the plains, while Rod remained in camp.  The strange thick gloom of night which began to gather in the chasm before the sun had disappeared beyond the plains above was already descending upon him when Rod began preparations for supper.  He knew that the Indians would not wait until dark before reentering the break between the mountains, and confident that they would soon appear he began mixing up flour and water for their usual batch of hot-stone biscuits.  So intent was he upon his task that he did not see a shadowy form creeping up foot by foot from the rocks.  He caught no glimpse of the eyes that glared like smoldering coals from out of the half darkness between him and the fall.

His first knowledge of another presence came in a low, whining cry, a cry that was not much more than a whisper, and he leaped to his feet, every nerve in his body once more tingling with that excitement which had possessed him when he stood under the rock talking to the madman.  A dozen yards away he saw a face, a great, white, ghost-like face, staring at him from out of the thickening shadows, and under that face and its tangled veil of beard and hair he saw the crouching form of the mad hunter!