He even found himself repeating this under his breath as he began rummaging about.  He kicked over the old chair, which was made of saplings nailed together, scrutinized a heap of rubbish that crumbled to dust under his touch, and gave a little cry of exultation when he found two guns leaning in a corner of the cabin.  Their stocks were decaying; their locks were encased with rust, their barrels, too, were thick with the accumulated rust of years.  Carefully, almost tenderly, he took one of these relics of a past age in his hands.  It was of ancient pattern, almost as long as he was tall.

“Hudson Bay gun—­the kind they had before my father was born!” said Wabi.

With bated breath and eagerly beating heart Rod pursued his search.  On one of the walls he found the remains of what had once been garments—­part of a hat, that fell in a thousand pieces when he touched it; the dust-rags of a coat and other things that he could not name.  On the table there were rusty pans, a tin pail, an iron kettle, and the remains of old knives, forks and spoons.  On one end of this table there was an unusual-looking object, and he touched it.  Unlike the other rags it did not crumble, and when he lifted it he found that it was a small bag, made of buckskin, tied at the end—­and heavy!  With trembling fingers he tore away the rotted string and out upon the table there rattled a handful of greenish-black, pebbly looking objects.

Rod gave a sharp quick cry for the others.

Wabi and Mukoki had just come through the door after bearing out one of their gruesome loads, and the young Indian hurried to his side.  He weighed one of the pieces in the palm of his hand.

“It’s lead, or—­”

“Gold!” breathed Rod.

He could hear his own heart thumping as Wabi jumped back to the light of the door, his sheath-knife in his hand.  For an instant the keen blade sank into the age-discolored object, and before Rod could see into the crease that it made Wabi’s voice rose in an excited cry.

“It’s a gold nugget!”

“And that’s why they fought!” exclaimed Rod exultantly.

He had hoped—­and he had discovered the reason.  For a few moments this was of more importance to him than the fact that he had found gold.  Wabi and Mukoki were now in a panic of excitement.  The buckskin bag was turned inside out; the table was cleared of every other object; every nook and cranny was searched with new enthusiasm.  The searchers hardly spoke.  Each was intent upon finding—­finding—­finding.  Thus does gold—­virgin gold—­stir up the sparks of that latent, feverish fire which is in every man’s soul.  Again Rod joined in the search.  Every rag, every pile of dust, every bit of unrecognizable debris was torn, sifted and scattered.  At the end of an hour the three paused, hopelessly baffled, even keenly disappointed for the time.

“I guess that’s all there is,” said Wabi.

It was the longest sentence that he had spoken for half an hour.