Mukoki, hearing Rod’s cry, hurried to the pool, but before he reached the spot where the white youth was standing with the yellow nugget in his hand Wabigoon had again plunged beneath the surface.  For several minutes he remained in the water, and when he once more crawled out upon the rocks there was something so strange in his face and eyes that for a moment Rod believed he had found the dead body of the madman.

“He isn’t-in-the-pool!” he panted.  Mukoki shrugged his shoulders and shivered.

“Dead!” he grunted

“He isn’t in the pool!”

Wabigoon’s black eyes gleamed in uncanny emphasis of his words.

“He isn’t in the pool!”

The others understood what he meant.  Mukoki’s eyes wandered to where the water of the pool gushed between the rocks into the broader channel of the chasm stream.  It was not more than knee deep!

“He no go out there!”

“No!”

“Then-where?”

He shrugged his shoulders suggestively again, and pointed into the pool.

“Body slip under rock.  He there!”

“Try it!” said Wabigoon tersely.

He hurried to the fire, and Rod went with him to gather more fuel while the young Indian warmed his chilled body.  They heard the old pathfinder leap into the water under the fall as they ran.

Ten minutes later Mukoki joined them.

“Gone!  Bad-dog man no there!”

He stretched out one of his dripping arms.

“Gol’ bullet!” he grunted.

In the palm of his hand lay another yellow nugget, as large as a hazelnut!

“I told you,” said Wabi softly, “that John Ball was coming back to his gold.  And he has done so!  The treasure is in the pool!”

But where was John Ball?

Dead or alive, where could he have disappeared?

Under other conditions the chasm would have rung with the wild rejoicing of the gold seekers.  But there was something now that stilled the enthusiasm in them.  At last the ancient map had given up its secret, and riches were within their grasp.  But no one of the three shouted out his triumph.  Somehow it seemed that John Ball had died for them, and the thought clutched at their hearts that if they had not cut down the stub he would still be alive.  Indirectly they had brought about the death of the poor creature who for nearly half a century had lived alone with the beasts in these solitudes.  And that one glimpse of the old man on the rock, the prayerful entreaty in his wailing voice, the despair which he sobbed forth when he found his tree gone, had livened in them something that was more than sympathy.  At this moment the three adventurers would willingly have given up all hopes of gold could sacrifice have brought back that sad, lonely old man who had looked down upon them from the wall of the upper chasm.

“I am sorry we cut down the stub,” said Rod.

They were the first words spoken.

“So am I,” replied Wabi simply, beginning to strip off his wet clothes.  “But-” He stopped, and shrugged his shoulders.

“What?”

“Well, we’re taking it for granted that John Ball is dead.  If he is dead why isn’t he in the pool?  By George, I should think that Mukoki’s old superstition would be getting the best of him!”

“I believe he is in the pool!” declared Rod.

Wabi turned upon him and repeated the words he had spoken to the old warrior half an hour before.

“Try it!”

After the attempts of the two Indians, who could dive like otter, Rod had no inclination to follow Wabi’s invitation.  Mukoki, who had hung up a half of his clothes near the fire, was fitting one of the pans to the end of a long pole which he had cut from a sapling, and it was obvious that his intention was to begin at once the dredging of the pool for gold.  Rod joined him, and once more the excitement of treasure hunting stirred in his veins.  When the pan was on securely Wabi left the fire to join his companions, and the three returned to the pool.  With a long sweep of his improvised dredge Mukoki scooped up two quarts or more of sand and gravel and emptied it upon one of the flat rocks, and the two boys pounced upon it eagerly, raking it out with their fingers and wiping the mud and sand from every suspicious looking pebble.

“The quickest way is to wash it!” said Rod, as Mukoki dumped another load upon the rock.  “I’ll get some water!”

He ran to the camp for the remaining pans and when he turned back he saw Wabi leaping in a grotesque dance about the rock while Mukoki stood on the edge of the pool, his dredge poised over it, silent and grinning.

“What do you think of that?” cried the young Indian as Rod hurried to him.  “What do you think of that?”

He held out his hand, and in it there gleamed a third yellow nugget, fully twice as large as the one discovered by Mukoki!

Rod fairly gasped.  “The pool must be full of ’em!”

He half-filled his pan with the sand and gravel and ran knee-deep out into the running stream.  In his eagerness he splashed over a part of his material with the wash, but he, excused himself by thinking that this was his first pan, and that with the rest he would be more careful.  He began to notice now that all of the sand was not washing out, and when he saw that it persisted in lying heavy and thick among the pebbles his heart leaped into his mouth.  One more dip, and he held his pan to the light coming through the rift in the chasm.  A thousand tiny, glittering particles met his eyes!  In the center of the pan there gleamed dully a nugget of pure gold as big as a pea!  At last they had struck it rich, so rich that he trembled as he stared down into the pan, and the cry that had welled up in his throat was choked back by the swift, excited beating of his heart.  In that moment’s glance down into his treasure-laden pan he saw all of his hopes and all of his ambitions achieved.  He was rich!  In those gleaming particles he saw freedom for his mother and himself.  No longer a bitter struggle for existence in the city, no more pinching and striving and sacrifice that they might keep the little home in which his father had died!  When he turned toward Wabigoon his face was filled with the ecstasy of those visions.  He waded ashore and held his pan under the other’s eyes.

“Another nugget!” exclaimed Wabi excitedly.

“Yes.  But it isn’t the nugget.  It’s the-” He moved the pan until the thousand little particles glittered and swam before the Indian’s eyes.  “It’s the dust.  The sand is full of gold!”

His voice trembled, his face was white.  From his crouching posture Wabi looked up at him, and they spoke no more words.

Mukoki looked, and was silent.  Then he went back to his dredging.  Little by little Rod washed down his pan.  Half an hour later he showed it again to Wabigoon.  The pebbles were gone.  What sand was left was heavy with the gleaming particles, and half buried in it all was the yellow nugget!  In Wabi’s pan there was no nugget but it was rich with the gleam of fine gold.

Mukoki had dredged a bushel of sand and gravel from the pool, and was upon his knees beside the heap which he had piled on the rock.  When Rod went to that rock for his third pan of dirt the old warrior made no sign that he had discovered anything.  The early gloom of afternoon was beginning to settle between the chasm walls, and at the end of his fourth pan Rod found that it was becoming so dark that he could no longer distinguish the yellow particles in the sand.  With the exception of one nugget he had found only fine gold.  With Wabi’s dust were three small nuggets.

When they ceased work Mukoki rose from beside the rock, chuckling, grimacing, and holding out his hand.  Wabi was the first to see, and his cry of astonishment drew Rod quickly to his side.  The hollow of the old warrior’s hand was filled with nuggets!  He turned them into Wabigoon’s hand, and the young Indian turned them into Rod’s, and as he felt the weight of the treasure he held Rod could no longer restrain the yell of exultation that had been held in all that afternoon.  Jumping high into the air and whooping at every other step he raced to the camp and soon had the small scale which they had brought with them from Wabinosh House.  The nuggets they had found that afternoon weighed full seven ounces, and the fine gold, after allowing the deduction of a third for sand, weighed a little more than eleven ounces.

“Eighteen ounces-and a quarter!”

Rod gave the total in a voice tremulous with incredulity.

“Eighteen ounces-at twenty dollars an ounce-three hundred and sixty dollars!” he figured rapidly.  “By George-” The prospect seemed too big for him, and he stopped.

“Less than half a day’s work,” added Wabi.  “We’re doing better than John Ball and the Frenchmen.  It means eighteen thousand dollars a month!”

“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!

In that moment Roderick Drew thanked God that he was not afraid.  Standing full in the glow of the fire he stretched out his arms, as he had once before reached them out to this weird creature, and again, softly, pleadingly, he called the name of John Ball!  There came in reply a faint, almost unheard sound from the wild man, a sound that was repeated again and again, and which sent a thrill into the young hunter, for it was wondrously like the name he was calling:  “John Ball!  John Ball!  John Ball!” And as the mad hunter repeated that sound he advanced, foot by foot, as though creeping upon all fours, and Rod saw then that one of his arms was stretched out to him, and that in the extended hand was a fish.

He advanced a step, reaching out his own hands eagerly, and the wild creature stopped, cringing as if fearing a blow.

“John Ball!  John Ball!” he repeated.  He thought of no other words but those, and advanced bit by bit as he called them gently again and again.  Now he was within ten feet of the old man, now eight, presently he was so near that he might have reached him in a single leap.  Then he stopped.

The mad hunter laid down his fish.  Slowly he retreated, murmuring incoherent sounds in his beard, then sprang to his feet and with a wailing cry sped back toward the pool.  Swiftly Rod followed.  He saw the form leap from the rocks at its edge, heard a heavy splash, and all was still!

For many minutes Rod stood with the spray of the cataract dashing in his face.  This time the madman’s plunge into the cold depths at his feet filled him with none of the horror of that first insane leap from the rock above.  Somewhere in that pool the old man was seeking refuge!  What did it mean?  His eyes scanned the thin sheet of water that plunged down from the upper chasm.  It was a dozen feet in width and hid the black wall of rock behind it like a thick veil.  What was there just behind that falling torrent?  Was it possible that in the wall of rock behind the waterfall there was a place where John Ball found concealment?

Rod returned to camp, convinced that he had at last guessed a solution to the mystery.  John Ball was behind the cataract!  The strange murmurings of the old man who for a few moments had crouched so close to him still rang in his ears, and he was sure that in these half-articulate sounds had been John Ball’s own name.  If there had been a doubt in his mind before, it was wiped away now.  The mad hunter was John Ball, and with that thought burning in his brain Rod stopped beside the fish-the madman’s offering of peace-and turned his face once more back toward the black loneliness of the pool.

Unconsciously a sobbing cry of sympathy fell softly from Rod’s lips, and he called John Ball’s name again, louder and louder, until it echoed far down the gloomy depths of the chasm.  There came no response.  Then he turned to the fish.  John Ball wished them to be friends, and he had brought this offering!  In the firelight Rod saw that it was a curious looking, dark-colored fish, covered with small scales that were almost black.  It was the size of a large trout, and yet it was not a trout.  The head was thick and heavy, like a sucker’s, and yet it was not a sucker.  He looked at this head more closely, and gave a sudden start when he saw that it had no eyes!

In one great flood the truth swept upon him, the truth of what lay behind the cataract, of where John Ball had gone!  For he held in his hands an eyeless creature of another world, a world hidden in the bowels of the earth itself, a proof that beyond the fall was a great cavern filled with the mystery and the sightless things of eternal night, and that in this cavern John Ball found his food and made his home!