“If we can reach that,” explained Wabi, “we can portage around the rest of the whirlpool to the main channel. The water is very deep along the edge of this rock, but the undertow doesn't seem to have any great force. I believe that we can make it. The experiment won't be a dangerous one at any rate.”
The canoe was now dragged to the edge of the rock and launched, Mukoki taking his place in the stern while Wabigoon placed Rod a little ahead of the midship rib.
“You must paddle on your left side, every minute and as fast as you can,” advised the young Indian. “I am to remain behind, holding one end of this rope, so that if you are drawn toward the maelstrom I can pull you back. Understand?”
“Yes—but you. How—”
“Oh, I'll swim!” said Wabi in rank bravado. “I don't mind a little whirlpool like that at all!”
Mukoki chuckled in high humor, and Roderick asked no more questions, but at Wabi's command dug in his paddle and kept at it until the birch bark safely made the point of land beyond the rock. When he looked back Wabi had tied the rope around his body and was already waist deep in the water. At a signal from Mukoki the young Indian plunged fearlessly into the edge of the whirlpool and like a great floundering fish he was quickly pulled across to safety. Most of his clothes had been brought over in the canoe, and after Wabigoon had exchanged his wet garments for these the adventurers were ready to continue their journey down the chasm. A short portage brought them to the main channel of the stream, where they once more launched their birch bark.
“If the whole trip is as exciting as this we'll never reach our gold,” said Wabi, as they slipped out into the swift current. “A madman, a whirlpool and a prison, all in one night, is almost more than we can stand.”
“There's a good deal of truth in the old saying that it never rains but it pours,” replied Rod. “Maybe we'll have smooth sailing from now on.”
“Mebby!” grunted the old pathfinder from behind.
Rod's optimism was vindicated for that day, at least. Until noon the canoe sped swiftly down the chasm without mishap. The stream, to which each mile added its contribution of flood water from the mountain tops, increased constantly in width and depth, but only now and then was there a rock to threaten their progress, and no driftwood at all. When the gold seekers landed for dinner they were confident of two things: that they had passed far beyond the mad hunter's reach, and were very near to the first waterfall. Memory of the thrilling experiences through which they had so recently run the gauntlet was replaced by the most exciting anticipation of the sound and sight of that first waterfall, which was so vitally associated with their search for the lost treasure. This time a hearty dinner was cooked, and it took more than an hour to prepare and eat it.
When the journey was resumed Mukoki placed himself in the bow, his sharp eyes scanning the rocks and mountain walls ahead of him. Two hours after the start he gave an exultant exclamation, and raised a warning hand above his head. The three listened. Faintly above the rush of the swift current there came to their ears the distant rumble of falling water!
Forgetful now of the madman back in the chasm, oblivious of everything but the fact that they had at last reached the first of the three falls which were to lead them to the gold, Wabi gave a whoop that echoed and reechoed between the mountain walls, and Rod joined him with all the power of his lungs. Mukoki grinned, chuckled in his curious way, and a few moments later signaled Wabi to guide the canoe ashore.
“We portage here,” he explained. “Current swift there—mebby go over fall!”
A short carry of two or three hundred yards brought them to the cataract. It was, as Mukoki had said after his long trip of exploration a few months before, a very small fall, not more than a dozen feet in height. But over it there was now rushing a thundering deluge of water. An easy trail led to the stream below it, and no time was lost in getting under way again.
Although they had traveled fully forty miles since morning, the day had been an easy and most interesting one for the three adventurers. On the swift current of the chasm stream they had worked but little, and the ceaseless change of scenery in this wonderful break between the mountain ridges held an ever-increasing fascination for them. Late in the afternoon, the course changed from its northeasterly direction to due north, and at this point there was an ideal spot for camping. Over an extent of an acre or more there was a sweeping hollow of fine white sand, with great quantities of dry wood cluttering the edge of the depression.
“That's a curious spot!” said Wabi as they drew up their canoe. “Looks like—”
“A lake,” grunted Mukoki. “Long time ago—a lake.”
“The curve of the stream right here has swept up so much sand that the water can't get into it,” added Rod, looking the place over.
Wabi had gone a few paces back. Suddenly he stopped, and with a half shout he gesticulated excitedly to his companions. Something in his manner took Rod and Mukoki to him on the run.
When they came up the Indian youth stood mutely pointing at something in the sand.
Clearly imprinted in that sand was the shape of a human foot, a foot that had worn neither boot nor moccasin when it left its trail in the lake bed, but which was as naked as the quivering hand which Wabigoon now held toward it!
And from that single footprint the eyes of the astonished adventurers traveled quickly to a hundred others, until it seemed to them that a dozen naked savages must have been dancing in these sands only a few hours before.
And Rod, glancing toward the driftwood, saw something else,—something toward which he pointed, speechless, white with that same strange excitement that had taken possession of Wabigoon!
CHAPTER XIII. THE THIRD WATERFALL
The others followed Rod's arm. Behind him he heard the gentle click of Wabigoon's revolver and the sharp, vicious snap of the safety on Mukoki's rifle.
From beyond the driftwood there was rising a thin spiral of smoke!
“Whoever they are, they have certainly seen or heard us!” said Wabi, after they had stood in silence for a full minute.
“Unless they are gone from camp,” replied Rod in a whisper.
“Keep eyes open!” warned Mukoki as they advanced cautiously in the direction of the smoke. “No can tell what, I guess so!”
He was first to mount the driftwood, and then he gave vent to a huge grunt. The smoke was rising from beside a charred log which was heaped half-way up its side with ashes and earth. In a flash the meaning of the ash and dirt dawned on Rod and his companions. The fire was banked. Those who had built it were gone, but they expected to return. The naked footprints were thick about the camp-fire, and close to one end of the charred log were scattered a number of bones. One after another Mukoki picked up several of these and closely examined them. While Rod and Wabigoon were still gazing about them in blank astonishment, half expecting attack from a savage horde at any moment, the old warrior had already reached a conclusion, and calling to his companions he brought their attention to the tracks in the sand.
“Same feet!” he exclaimed. “One man mak' all track!”
“Impossible!” cried Wabi. “There are—thousands of them!”
Mukoki grunted and fell upon his knees.
“Heem big toe—right foot—broke sometime. Same in all track. See?”
Disgusted at his own lack of observation, Wabigoon saw at once that the old pathfinder was right. The joint of the big toe on the right foot was twisted fully half an inch outward, a deformity that left a peculiar impression in the sand, and every other track bore this telltale mark. No sooner were the two boys convinced of the correctness of Mukoki's assertion than another and still more startling surprise was sprung on them. Holding out his handful of bones, Mukoki said:
“Meat no cook—eat raw!”
“Great Scott!” gasped Rod.
Wabi's eyes flashed with a new understanding, and as he gazed into Rod's astonished face the latter, too, began to comprehend the significance of it all.
“Yes.”
“And he was here yesterday!”
“Probably the day before,” said Wabi. The young Indian turned suddenly to Mukoki. “What did he want of the fire if he didn't cook meat?” he asked.
Mukoki shrugged his shoulders but did not answer.
“Well, it wasn't cooked, anyway,” declared Wabi, again examining the bones. “Here are chunks of raw flesh clinging to the bones. Perhaps he just singed the outside of his meat.”
The old Indian nodded at this suggestion and turned to investigate the fire. On the end of the log were two stones, one flat and the other round and smooth, and after a moment's inspection of these he dropped an exclamation which was unusual for him, and which he used only in those rare intervals when all other language seemed to fail him.
“Bad dog man—mak' bullet—here!” he called, holding out the stones. “See—gold—gold!”
The boys hurried to his side.
“See—gold!” he repeated excitedly.
In the center of the flat stone there was a gleaming yellow film. A single glance told the story. With the round stone for a hammer the mad hunter had pounded his golden bullets into shape upon the flat stone! There was no longer a doubt in their minds; they were in the madman's camp. That morning they had left this strange creature of the wilderness fifty miles away. But how far away was he now? The fire slumbering under its covering of ash and earth proved that he meant to return—and soon. Would he travel by night as well as by day? Was it possible that he was already close behind them?
“He travels with the swiftness of an animal,” said Wabi, speaking in a low voice to Rod. “Perhaps he will return to-night!”
Mukoki overheard him and shook his head.
“Mak' heem through chasm in two day on snow-shoe,” he declared, referring to his trip of exploration to the first waterfall over the snows of the previous winter. “No mak' in t'ree day over rock!”
“If Mukoki is satisfied, I am,” said Rod. “We can pull up behind the driftwood on the farther edge of the lake bed.”
Wabi made no objection, and the camp site was chosen. Strangely enough, with the discovery of the footprints, the fire, the picked bones and the stones with which the mad hunter had manufactured his golden bullets, Mukoki seemed to have lost all fear of the wild creature of the chasm. He was confident now that he had only a man to deal with, a man who had gone “bad dog,” and his curiosity overcame his alarm. His assurance served to dispel the apprehension of his companions, and sleep came early to the tired adventurers. Nor did anything occur during the night to awaken them.
Soon after dawn the trip down the chasm stream was resumed. With the abrupt turning of the channel to the north, however, there was an almost immediate change in the topography of the country. Within an hour the precipitous walls of the mountains gave place to verdure-covered slopes, and now and then the gold seekers found themselves between plains that swept back for a mile or more on either side. Frequent signs of game were observed along the shores of the river and several times during the morning moose and caribou were seen in the distance. A few months before, when they had invaded the wilderness to hunt and trap, this country would have aroused the wildest enthusiasm among Rod and his friends, but now they gave but little thought to their rifles. That morning they had set out with the intention of reaching the second waterfall before dusk, and it was with disappointment rather than gladness that they saw the swift current of the chasm torrent change into the slower, steadier sweep of a stream that had now widened into a fair-sized river. According to the map the second fall was about fifty-five miles from the mad hunter's camp. Darkness found them still fifteen miles from where it should be.
Excitement kept Rod awake most of that night. Try as he would, he could not keep visions of the lost treasure out of his mind. The next day they would be far on their way to the third and last waterfall. And then—the gold! That they might not find it, that the passing of half a century or more might have obliterated all traces left by its ancient discoverers, never for a moment disturbed his belief.
He was the first awake the following morning, the first to take his place in the canoe. Every minute now his ears were keenly attuned for that distant sound of falling water. But hours passed without a sign of it. Noon came. They had traveled six hours and had covered twenty-five miles instead of fifteen! Where was the waterfall?
There was a little more of anxiety in Wabigoon's eyes when they resumed their journey after dinner. Again and again Rod looked at his map, figuring out the distances as drawn by John Ball, the murdered Englishman. Surely the second waterfall could not be far away now! And still hour after hour passed, and mile after mile slipped behind them, until the three knew that they had gone fully thirty miles beyond where the cataract should have been, if the map was right. Twilight was falling when they stopped for supper. For the last hour Mukoki had spoken no word. A feeling of gloom was on them all; without questioning, each knew what the fears of the others were.
Was it possible that, after all, they had not solved the secret of the mysterious map?
The more Rod thought of it the more his fears possessed him. The two men who fought and died in the old cabin were on their way to civilization. They were taking gold with them, gold which they meant to exchange for supplies. Would they, at the same time, dare to have in their possession a map so closely defining their trail as the rude sketch on the bit of birch bark? Was there not some strange key, known only to themselves, necessary to the understanding of that sketch?
Mukoki had taken his rifle and disappeared in the plain along the river, and for a long time after they had eaten their bear steak and drank their hot coffee Rod and Wabigoon sat talking in the glow of the camp-fire. The old warrior had been gone for about an hour when suddenly there came the report of a gun from far down the stream, which was quickly followed by two others—three in rapid succession. After an interval of a few seconds there sounded two other shots.
“The signal!” cried Rod. “Mukoki wants us!”
Wabigoon sprang to his feet and emptied the five shots of his magazine into the air.
“Listen!”
Hardly had the echoes died away when there came again the reports of Mukoki's rifle.
Without another word the two boys hurried to the canoe, which had not been unloaded.
“He's a couple of miles down-stream,” said Wabi, as they shoved off. “I wonder what's the matter?”
“I can make a pretty good guess,” replied Rod, his voice trembling with a new excitement. “He has found the second waterfall!”
The thought gave fresh strength to their aching arms and the canoe sped swiftly down the stream. Fifteen minutes later another shot signaled to them, this time not more than a quarter of a mile away, and Wabi responded to it with a loud shout. Mukoki's voice floated back in an answering halloo, but before the young hunters came within sight of their comrade another sound reached their ears,—the muffled roar of a cataract! Again and again the boys sent their shouts of joy echoing through the night, and above the tumult of their own voices they heard the old warrior calling on them to put into shore. Mukoki was waiting for them when they landed.
“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.”
The Gold Hunters Page 12