It was not yet noon when he started over Mukoki's trap-line.
Left to his own uninterrupted thoughts, Rod's mind was once more absorbed in his scheme of exploring the mysterious chasm.

He had noticed during his inspection from the top of the ridge that the winter snows had as yet fallen but little in the gloomy gulch between the mountains, and he was eager to attempt his adventure before other snows came or the fierce blizzards of December filled the chasm with drifts.

Later in the afternoon he brought forth the buckskin bag from a niche in the log wall where it had been concealed, and one after another carefully examined the golden nuggets.

He found, as he had expected, that they were worn to exceeding smoothness, and that every edge had been dulled and rounded.
Rod's favorite study in school had been a minor branch of geology and mineralogy, and he knew that only running water could work this smoothness.

He was therefore confident that the nuggets had been discovered in or on the edge of a running stream.