“There is no doubt but what this map was drawn by John Ball,” he said after a few moments of silent contemplation.  “Everything points to that fact.  Notice that all of the writing is in one hand, except the signatures of Langlois and Plante, and you could hardly decipher the letters in those signatures if you did not already know their names from this writing below.  Ball wrote a good hand, and from the construction of the agreement over the signatures he was a man of pretty fair education.  Don’t you think so?  Well, he must have drawn this map with some idea of distance in his mind.  The second fall is only half as far from the first fall as the third fall is from the second, which seems to me conclusive evidence of this.  If he had not had distance in mind he would not have separated the falls in this way on the map.”

“Then if we can find the first fall we can figure pretty nearly how far the last fall is from the head of the chasm,” said Rod.

“Yes.  I believe the distance from here to the first fall will give us a key to the whole thing.”

Rod had produced a pencil from one of his pockets and was figuring on the smooth side of a chip.

“The gold is a long way from here at the best, Wabi.  I explored the chasm for ten miles.  Say that we find the first fall within fifteen miles.  Then, according to the map, the second fall would be about twenty miles from the first, and the third forty miles from the second.  If the first fall is within fifteen miles of this cabin the third fall is at least seventy-five miles away.”

Wabi nodded.

“But we may not find the first fall within that distance,” he said.  “By George—­” He stopped and looked at Rod with an odd look of doubt in his face.  “If the gold is seventy-five or a hundred miles away, why were those men here, and with only a handful of nuggets in their possession?  Is it possible that the gold played out—­that they found only what was in the buckskin bag?”

“If that were so, why should they have fought to the death for the possession of the map?” argued Rod.

Mukoki was turning the steak.  He had not spoken, but now he said: 

“Mebby going to Post for supplies.”

“That’s exactly what they were doing!” shouted the Indian youth.  “Muky, you have solved the whole problem.  They were going for supplies.  And they didn’t fight for the map—­not for the map alone!”

His face flushed with new excitement.

“Perhaps I am wrong, but it all seems clear to me now,” he continued.  “Ball and the two Frenchmen worked their find until they ran out of supplies.  Wabinosh House is over a hundred years old, and fifty years ago that was the nearest point where they could get more.  In some way it fell to the Frenchmen to go.  They had probably accumulated a hoard of gold, and before they left they murdered Ball.  They brought with them only enough gold to pay for their supplies, for it was their purpose not to arouse the suspicion of any adventurers who happened to be at the Post.  They could easily have explained their possession of those few nuggets.  In this cabin either Langlois or Plante tried to kill his companion, and thus become the sole possessor of the treasure, and the fight, fatal to both, ensued.  I may be wrong, but—­by George, I believe that is what happened!”