"That will be difficult, Sieur," replied Cartier. "He is in Heaven."
"Dead, is he? Well, what good will that nugget do us?" said Roberval, in disgust and disappointment. "We might search for centuries before we could find its mate."
"True, Sieur, but where one was found there are likely to be others. Besides, I have here something that may help us in our search."
As he spoke he unrolled a precious chart, scratched on birch bark with some rude weapon, such as a flint arrow-head.
"I got this from Donnacona five years ago, and I have kept it from the world till this moment, fearing that calamity might befall it."
He spread it on the table, and on one corner rested the tempting nugget.
It was a marvellous map; the map of an unknown world of wonders.
"I can swear to the truth of this part at least," said Cartier. "This is Hochelaga, and here are marked the difficult rapids above it. These five inland seas are without doubt in existence. Many Indians have told me of them; and see, Sieur, this one is incomplete. Donnacona told me that no Indian had ever reached its end; and yet there are tales among the Indians of richly-robed men of another race and colour who live beyond these vast western waters. I do not like to conjecture in so great an undertaking, but does it not seem probable that we have at last before us the road to the East, and to the Kingdom of the Grand Khan?"
"Enough, enough, Cartier!" said Roberval, laughing. "You are too enthusiastic. What next will you have to offer? Already we have had furs, fish, timber, gold, silver, precious stones, and Indian souls. You must think I need great temptation to be lured into this enterprise. But what have we here, to the north of this ocean?"
"I am glad you have noticed that," replied Cartier. "Those rude marks are the mines. They are of great antiquity; and Donnacona, who had no idea of the value of the precious metals, spoke of the men of old who dug for metal such as we wore on our fingers, and about our necks. He had a fine scorn for such baubles; and, as if to impress us with their worthlessness, stood on the heights of Stadacona, and pointed with pride to the wigwams of his tribe clustering at the foot of the cliff: 'But,' he said, 'the men who wrought the metal are no more. Mighty oaks grow from the earth in which they toiled.'"