Between his fingers he was working the loose hide back of the foreleg.
The scar of an old wound was plainly visible, and both Rod and Wabi
could feel the ball under the skin. There is something that fascinates
the big game hunter in this discovery of an old wound in his quarry,
and especially in the vast solitudes of the North, where hunters are
few and widely scattered. It brings with it a vivid picture of
what happened long ago, the excitement of some other chase, the
well-directed shot, and at last the escape of the game. And so it was
now. The heads of Rod and Wabigoon hung close over Mukoki's shoulders
while the old Indian dug out the bullet with his knife. Another grunt
of surprise fell from the pathfinder's lips as he dropped the pellet
in the palm of his hand.

It was a strange-looking object, smooth, and curiously flattened.

"Ver' soft bullet," said Mukoki. "Never know lead thin, thin out lak
that!"

With his knife he peeled off a thin slice of the ball.

"Heem--"

He held up the two pieces. In the sun they gleamed a dull, rich
yellow.

"That bullet made of gold!" he breathed, scarcely above a whisper. "No
yellow lead. That gold, pure gold!"