bullets at bear?" he cried more excitedly, repeating Mukoki's question
of a minute before.

He, too, weighed the yellow pellets in his hand.

The puzzled look had gone out of Mukoki's face. 'Again the
battle-scarred old warrior wore the stoic mask of his race, which only
now and then is lifted for an instant by some sudden and unexpected
happening. Behind that face, immobile, almost expressionless, worked a
mind alive to every trick and secret of the vast solitudes, and even
before his young comrades had gained the use of their tongues he was,
in his savage imagination, traveling swiftly back over the trail of
the monster bear to the gun that had fired the golden bullet. Wabigoon
understood him, and watched him eagerly.

"What do you think of it, Muky?"

"Man shoot powder and ball gun, not cartridge," replied Mukoki slowly.
"Old gun. Strange; ver' strange!"

"A muzzle loader!" said Wabi.

The Indian nodded.

"Had powder, no lead. Got hungry; used gold."

Eight words had told the story, or at least enough of it to clear away
a part of the cloud of mystery, but the other part still remained.

Who had fired the bullet, _and where had the gold come from?_