Mukoki and Wabigoon were still at the dead stub.

Even the flare of light in the old cabin had not attracted them.
Tossing his torch away Rod tore off the top of the tin box.

Something fell at his feet, and as he reached for it he saw that it was a little roll of paper, almost as discolored as the rust-eaten box itself.

As gently as Mukoki had unrolled the precious birchbark map a few months before he smoothed out the paper.

The edges of it broke and crumbled under his fingers, but the inner side of the roll was still quite white.