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
by their people. And this warrior, though invisible, has a voice that
makes the mountains quake and the rivers stand still with fear, and
in his great bow he shoots shafts that are made of gold! Do you
understand? Last night I heard Mukoki talking about it in his sleep.
Either we must hear this cry, and find out more about it, or hurry to
a place where it won't be heard again. Golden bullets and cries and
Mukoki's superstitions are going to be worse than Woongas if we don't