Mukoki had not.
In the glow of the camp-fire the two boys read over again the old account of John Ball and the two Frenchmen.

The tiny slip of paper, yellow with age, was the connecting link between them and the dim and romantic past, a relic of the grim tragedy which these black and gloomy chasm walls would probably keep for ever a secret.
"Twenty-seven pounds," repeated Rod, as if half to himself.

"That was one month's work!" "Pretty nearly a pound a day!" gasped Wabi.

"I tell you, Rod, we haven't hit the right spot--yet!" "I wonder why John Ball's share was twice that of his companions'?
Do you suppose it was because he discovered the gold in the first place ?" speculated Rod.
"In all probability it was.

That accounts for his murder.