found upon
the plain. If the mysterious person who had fired the golden bullet
had leaped from the mountain top into space he could have left no
fewer traces behind him. At the end of an hour Rod and his companions
returned to the canoe, carried their loads to the pack in the dip,
and prepared dinner. Their suspense and fear, and specially Mukoki's
dread, were in a large measure gone. But at the same time they were
more hopelessly mystified than ever. That there was danger ahead of
them, that the menace of golden bullets was actual and thrilling, all
three were well agreed, but the sunlight of day and a little sound
reasoning had dispelled their half superstitious terrors of the
previous night and they began to face the new situation with their
former confidence.

"We can't let this delay us," said Wabi, as they ate their dinner. "By
night we ought to be in our old camp at the head of the chasm, where
we held the Woongas at bay last winter. The sooner we get out of the
way of these golden bullets the better it will be for us!"

Mukoki shrugged his shoulders.

"Gold bullet follow, I guess so," he grunted, "Cry went there--to
chasm!"

"I don't believe this fellow, whoever he is, will hang to our trail,"
continued Wabi, giving Rod a suggestive look. A few moments later he
found an opportunity to whisper, "We've got to get that cry out of
Muky's head, Rod, or we'll never find our gold!"

When Mukoki had gone to arrange his pack the young Indian spoke
earnestly to his companion.

"Muky isn't afraid of bullets, either gold or lead; he isn't afraid of
any danger on earth. But that cry haunts him. He is trying not to
let us know, yet it haunts him just the same. Do you know what he is
thinking? No? Well, I do! He is superstitious, like the rest of his
race, and the two gold bullets, the terrible cries, and the fact that
we found no tracks upon the plain are all carrying him toward one
conclusion, that the strange thing that fired at him is--"

Wabigoon paused and wiped his face, and it was easy for Rod to see
that he was suppressing some unusual excitement.

"What does he think it is?"

"I'm not sure, not quite sure, yet," went on the Indian youth. "But
listen! It is a legend in Mukoki's tribe, and always has been, that
once in every so many generations they are visited by a terrible
warrior sent by the Great Spirit who takes sacrifice of them, a
sacrifice of human life, because of a great wrong that was once done