"Careful!" whispered Wabi.
With the point of his knife he loosened the cohesion.
"I guess—there's—nothing—" began Rod.
Even as he spoke he caught his breath. A mark had appeared on the bark, a black, meaningless mark with a line running down from it into the scroll.
Another fraction of an inch and the line was joined by a second, and then with an unexpectedness that was startling the remainder of the roll released itself like a spring—and to the eyes of the three wolf hunters was revealed the secret of the skeleton hand.
Spread out before them was a map, or at least what they at once accepted as a map, though in reality it was more of a crude diagram of straight and crooked lines, with here and there a partly obliterated word to give it meaning. In several places there were mere evidences of words, now entirely illegible. But what first held the attention of Rod and his companions were several lines in writing under the rough sketch on the bark, still quite plain, which formed the names of three men. Roderick read them aloud.
"John Ball, Henri Langlois, Peter Plante."
Through the name of John Ball had been drawn a broad black line which had almost destroyed the letters, and at the end of this line, in brackets, was printed a word in French which Wabi quickly translated.
"Dead!" he breathed. "The Frenchmen killed him!"
The words shot from him in hot excitement.