On the table there were rusty pans, a tin pail, an iron kettle, and the remains of old knives, forks and spoons.

On one end of this table there was an unusual-looking object, and he touched it.

Unlike the other rags it did not crumble, and when he lifted it he found that it was a small bag, made of buckskin, tied at the end--and heavy! With trembling fingers he tore away the rotted string and out upon the table there rattled a handful of greenish-black, pebbly looking objects.
Rod gave a sharp quick cry for the others.
Wabi and Mukoki had just come through the door after bearing out one of their gruesome loads, and the young Indian hurried to his side.

He weighed one of the pieces in the palm of his hand.
"It's lead, or--" "Gold!" breathed Rod.
He could hear his own heart thumping as Wabi jumped back to the light of the door, his sheath-knife in his hand.

For an instant the keen blade sank into the age-discolored object, and before Rod could see into the crease that it made Wabi's voice rose in an excited cry.
"It's a gold nugget!" "And _that's_ why they fought!" exclaimed Rod exultantly.
He had hoped--and he had discovered the reason.