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.
"It must have been the madman!"
"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."
"And we're not more than twenty-five!" declared Rod confidently.
"Let's build a fire and go to bed. We'll have enough to do
to-morrow--hunting gold!"
The fourth day's journey was begun before it was yet light. Breakfast
was eaten in the glow of the camp-fire, and by the time dawn broke the
adventurers were already an hour upon their way. Nothing but confidence
now animated them. The mad hunter and his golden bullets were entirely
forgotten in these last hours of their exciting quest. Once, far back,
Rod had thought with chilling dread that this might be the madman's
trail, that his golden bullets might come from the treasure they were
seeking. But he gave no thought to this possibility now. His own belief
that the third and last fall was not far distant, in spite of the
evidence of the map, gradually gained possession of his companions, and
the nerves of all three were keyed to the highest tension of expectancy.
The preceding night Mukoki had made himself a paddle to replace the one
he had broken, and not a stroke of the three pairs of arms was lost.
Early in the morning a young moose allowed them to pass within a hundred
yards of him. But no shot was fired, for to obtain the meat would have
meant an hour's loss of time.
Two hours after the start the country again began taking on a sudden
change. From east and west the wild mountain ridges closed in, and
with each mile's progress the stream narrowed and grew swifter, until
again it was running between chasm walls that rose black and silent
over the adventurers' heads. Darker and gloomier became the break
between the mountains. Far above, a thousand feet or more, dense
forests of red pine flung their thick shadows over the edge of the
chasm, in places almost completely shutting out the light of day.
This was not like the other chasm. It was deeper and darker and more
sullen. Under its walls the gloom was almost that of night. Its
solitude was voiceless; not a bird fluttered or chirped among
its rocks; the lowest of whispered words sounded with startling
distinctness. Once Rod spoke aloud, and his voice rose and beat itself
in the cavernous depths of the walls until it seemed as though he had
shouted. Now they ceased paddling, and Mukoki steered. Noiselessly the
current swept them on. In the twilight gloom Rod's face shone
with singular whiteness. Mukoki and Wabigoon crouched like bronze
silhouettes. It was as if some mysterious influence held them in its
power, forbidding speech, holding their eyes in staring expectancy
straight ahead, filling them with indefinable sensations that made
their hearts beat faster and their blood tingle.
Softly, from far ahead, at last there came a murmur. It was like the
first gentle whispering of an approaching wind, the soughing of a
breath among the pines at the top of the chasm. But a wind among the
trees rises, and then dies away, like a chord struck low and gently
upon some soft-toned instrument. This whisper that came up the chasm
remained. It grew no louder, and sometimes it almost faded away, until
the straining ears of those who listened could barely detect it; but
after a moment it was there again, as plainly as before. Little by
little it became more distinct, until there were no longer intervals
when it died away, and at last Wabigoon turned in the bow and faced
his companions, and though he spoke no word there was the gleam of a
great excitement in his eyes. Rod's heart beat like a drum. He, too,
began to understand. That moaning, whispering sound floating up
the chasm was not the wind, but the far-away rumble of the third
waterfall!
Mukoki's voice broke the tense silence from behind.
"That the fall!"
Wabigoon replied in words scarcely louder than a whisper. There was no
joyful shouting now, as there had been at the discovery of the second
fall. Even Mukoki's voice was so low that the others could barely
hear. Something between these chasm walls seemed to demand silence
from them, and as the rumble of the cataract came more and
more clearly to their ears they held their breath in voiceless
anticipation. A few hundred yards ahead of them was the treasure which
men long since dead had discovered more than half a century before;
between the black mountain walls that so silently guarded that
treasure there seemed to lurk the spirit presence of the three men who
had died because of it. Here, somewhere very near, John Ball had been
murdered, and Rod almost fancied that along the sandy edge of the
chasm stream they might stumble on the footprints of the men whose
skeletons they had discovered in the ancient cabin.
Mukoki uttered no sound as he guided the canoe ashore. Still without
word, the three picked up their rifles and Wabigoon led the way along
the edge of the stream. Soon it dashed a swift racing torrent between
the rocks, and Rod and his companions knew that they were close upon
the fall. A hundred yards or more and they saw the white mist of it
leaping up before their eyes. Wabi began to run, his moccasined feet
springing from stone to stone with the caution of a hunter approaching
game, and Mukoki and Rod came close behind him.
They paused upon the edge of a great mass of rock with the spray of
the plunging cataract rising in their faces. Breathless they gazed
down. It was not a large fall. Wabi silently measured it at forty
feet. But it added just that much more to the depth and the gloom of
the chasm beyond, into which there seemed no way of descent. The rock
walls rose sheer and black, with clumps of cedar and stunted pine
growing at their feet. Farther on the space between the mountains
became wider, and the river reached out on either side, frothing and
beating itself into white fury in a chaos of slippery water-worn
rocks.
Down there--somewhere--was the golden treasure they had come to seek,
unless the map lied! Was it among those rocks, where the water dashed
and fumed? Was it hidden in some gloomy cavern of the mountain sides,
its trail concealed by the men who discovered it half an age ago?
Would they find it, after all--would they find it?
A great gulp of excitement rose in Rod's throat, and he looked at
Wabigoon.
The Indian youth had stretched out an arm. His eyes were blazing, his
whole attitude was one of tense emotion.
"There's the cabin," he cried, "the cabin built by John Ball and the
two Frenchmen! See, over there among those cedars, almost hidden in
that black shadow of the mountain! Great Scott, Muky--Rod--can't you
see? Can't you see?"