"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!"