BUD BENT AND STRETCHED HIS FREE HAND DOWN TO MARSHALL.

Marshall saw the hand and caught it, as a drowning man would grasp a beam of wood floating within his reach.

There was a terrible wrench on the arms and bodies of the two boys, but neither broke his hold; and, with a tremendous pull, Marshall was jerked up on the ledge of rock on which they were standing, and, in another moment the three had climbed to safety, just as the flood swept by them, so close that they were covered with the foam that rode on its top.

For a minute the three stood panting and trembling where they were; and then they climbed to the broad ledge where all had halted out of reach of the flood.

Mr. Conroyal gripped Thure's hand and held it warmly for a minute; but he did not speak a word. There was no need; for Thure understood.

Mr. Randolph was a little more demonstrative, but he said little.

The two boys had done exactly what the two men expected their sons to do; and the hearts of both were glad and proud, but neither man showed his pride in their brave action, only his joy that they had escaped the flood.

Marshall, the moment their fathers dropped their hands, seized a hand of each boy in each of his hands and started to thank them, with tears in his eyes; but both boys quickly jerked their hands away.

"Forget it," Thure said impatiently. "We only did what you or any other man would have done under the same circumstances—Great Moses, just look at that water!" and Thure's eyes turned to the flood that was now foaming and boiling a few feet beneath them.

At this moment the edge of the black clouds swept over them, and the rain fell down in torrents; but in a quarter of an hour the clouds had passed, and the sun was shining again, and the violence of the flood was beginning to slacken. In half an hour the flood had swept by; and with it had gone every vestige of the wing dam they had builded with so much labor and with so many high hopes.

"Durn th' durned dam!" and, without another word, Ham turned his back on the scene of their fruitless labors, and strode off toward Hangtown, followed by all the others, who fervently echoed his words in their hearts.

ROBBED

"Now I'll say good-by to you men," Marshall said, when they reached the outskirts of Hangtown. "I am real sorry that your venture turned out the way that it did; but a man has got to expect any sort of luck in the diggings, and usually it is the worst sort that he gets dealt out to him, at least that has been my experience," and he smiled bitterly.

Marshall now stood for a moment, irresolutely, his eyes fixed on Thure and Bud; and then, suddenly, he thrust one of his hands deep into his trousers pocket and drew out a little roll of buckskin, carefully folded and tied. This little packet he at once untied and unrolled and brought to light two small gold nuggets. With one of these in either hand he now approached Thure and Bud.

"My young friends," he said, "I do not know as the life you saved is of much value; but still I prize it, being the only life I have; and I want to show you that I appreciate the quickness and the bravery of your action, and to leave with you some memento of the deed and of the man you saved from a horrible death. I am poor, others have grown rich off my misfortunes—" Again that bitter look of mingled discontent and useless rebellion swept over his face—"but I still have left these two little nuggets of gold, the very two pieces of gold that I picked up from the mill-race on that cold January morning, the first two nuggets of gold found in California! I prize them above everything else that I possess; and, because they are so dear to me, I now most willingly give them to you, to keep in memory of this day and of the unfortunate man whose life you saved," and he handed one of the nuggets to Thure and the other to Bud. "Keep them carefully. They will be valuable mementos some day, Good-by," and without another word or waiting for a reply, he whirled about and walked swiftly away.

Thure and Bud both ran after him, and told him that, although they would prize the nuggets above anything else he could give them, they did not wish to take them from him, the one who first picked them up, that they belonged to him, that he ought to keep them; but Marshall would not listen to them, would not take the nuggets back, would not even stop to hear the boys' thanks, and strode on down the trail to where the lights of Hangtown were beginning to twinkle through the gathering shadows of night.

In after years these two little gold nuggets became the most valued treasures in the possession of the families of our young heroes; and their grandchildren still cherish them among their most prized heirlooms.

"I reckon thar's somethin' jest a leetle out of kilter in th' top of Marshall's head," Ham commented, as he watched the man hurrying down the trail. "He's smart enough when it comes tew th' use of tools; but outside of them 'bout everything that he touches 'pears tew go wrong with him, an' ginerally it goes wrong because of th' fool way he tackles it, though he lays his bad luck all on th' ingratertude of his feller mortals."

Thure and Bud very carefully stowed away the two nuggets in their pockets, and hurried on after their companions, who were hurrying up the trail leading to the log house.

As they passed the Dickson log cabin Mr. and Mrs. Dickson both came out. Mrs. Dickson's eyes were red from crying, and the face of Dickson was white and set, with a look of despair in his eyes not good to see.

"Hello! What has happened?" and Mr. Conroyal, who was in the lead, stopped suddenly and stared in astonishment at the woe-begone faces of the erstwhile happy couple.

"Robbed," Dickson answered sententiously. "Robbed and the mine has played out."

"Yes, robbed of all but about fifty dollars' worth of gold-dust that we took out this afternoon before the mine gave out," and Mrs. Dickson's voice trembled. "And not a thing to tell us who did the robbing. Robbed of a good forty thousand dollors' worth of gold-dust! Enough to have taken us both back to New York state and enabled us to have lived the rest of our lives in comfort," and Mrs. Dickson's voice broke into sobs.

"Robbed! Robbed of all your gold!" and our friends gather around them in great excitement and indignation.

"When?"

"How?"

"Who did it?"

"Sometime this afternoon," answered Mr. Dickson, "as near as we can figure it out just a little before the storm. But all that we really know is, that, when we went to get the gold to-night, it was gone, and without a sign left to tell who had taken it."

"And we had it so well hidden," mourned Mrs. Dickson, "under a stone in the fireplace. And then to think that the mine should give out at the same time!" and again she burst into tears.

"Wal, it shore is tough luck, Leetle Woman," sympathized Ham. "But we've got tew take th' tough luck with th' tender an' make th' best on it. Now, supposin' we have a look around. Maybe we can find some clue that you missed, you being some excited. It'll go mighty hard with th' robbers, if we catch them," and Ham's face hardened. "Now jest show us where you had th' gold hidden," and he and the others followed Mr. and Mrs. Dickson into the house.

"We had the gold hid right there, under that stone," and Dickson pointed to an upturned flat stone, about a foot square, that lay near a small hole, excavated in the bed of the fireplace, which the stone had evidently covered over and concealed. "When we got in to-night there was not a suspicious sign anywhere; and it was not until I lifted the stone off the hole to put the gold in that we'd taken out since noon that we discovered that we had been robbed. I reckon there is no use of trying to find the robbers. A hundred men could hide themselves in these mountains in a couple of hours where ten thousand could not find them," and the look of despair settled back on his face. "Nobody saw them come and nobody saw them go and nobody has the least idea who did the robbing. So, I guess, it is just up to Mollie and me to buckle down to hard work and hard living again."

"Now, don't git discourage. Maybe thar's better luck in store for you than you dream of," and Ham's face lighted up, as if a pleasant idea had suddenly come to him. "I want tew have a talk with th' rest of th' members of th' Never-Give-Up California Mining Company; an' then, may be we'll have a propersition tew make tew you, an', ag'in, maybe we won't," and Ham grinned so good-naturedly that even Mrs. Dickson smiled wanly.

"Come on, fellers, let's git tew th' office of th' Never-Give-Up California Mining Company; an' go intew secret session tew consider important matters," and he hurried out of the house, followed by all the others, except Mr. and Mrs. Dickson, who stared after them with something like hope mingled with the look of wonderment on their faces. They knew that Hammer Jones never talked that way, under such serious circumstances, without meaning something. But, what could he mean?

Ham was the first to open the door of the log house and enter. The room was dark and he struck a match and lit the candle, which had been left on the table ready for lighting. The moment the light of the candle illuminated the surface of the table, Ham uttered an exclamation and stood staring blankly, for a moment, at something that glittered and shimmered in the flickering candle light near the center of the table.

"Wal, I'll be durned!" and he reached out one of his big hands and gingerly drew from the table a small keen-bladed Mexican dagger, which, with a strong blow, had been driven through a piece of paper deep into the wood of the table.

All the others were now crowding excitedly around the table; and Mr. Conroyal quickly picked up the piece of paper and held it up to the candlelight. On the paper were scrawled, with a piece of charred coal by a hand unused to writing, the following words:

This ominous note was unsigned; but there was no need of any signature.

For a moment after all had finished reading, no one spoke, but each stood staring from the paper to the dagger in Ham's hand. Then Ham suddenly straightened up with a growl of rage.

"I thought it was them, an' this proves I was right. Th' durned skunks!" and the righteous wrath in Ham's eyes was good to see. "Now, men," and his glance swept swiftly the circle of excited faces, "this makes th' offerin' of proof unnecessary. We know who robbed th' Dicksons! An' we know, if they hadn't a-ben watchin' us an' a tryin' tew git hold of that thar skin map, they wouldn't have found out 'bout Dickson's gold an' did th' robbin'. This makes us sort of respons'ble for th' robbin'; an', I reckon, it's up tew us tew try an' make good what th' Dicksons lost on 'count of our bringin' them skunks down on them, more special since their mine's gin out, tew. Now, seein' that thar durned dam has played out on us, I reckon we're all a-calculatin' on havin' a try for th' Cave of Gold next; an' I figger 'twouldn't be more'n square for us tew ask th' Dicksons tew go long with us on th' hunt for th' dead miner's wonderful cave, an', if we find it, for them tew share in th' gold same as us. How does th' propersition strike you, men?"

"Bully!" exclaimed Thure enthusiastically. "Mrs. Dickson can beat dad and the rest of you making flapjacks all hollow; and she can make biscuits, real biscuits that a fellow can eat without cracking them first with a hammer, the same as nuts!"

"Wal, I reckon, that argyment settles it," grinned Ham.

"Supposing we consider the Never-Give-Up California Mining Company in session and put it to a vote," suggested Mr. Conroyal.

All agreeing, Mr. Conroyal promptly put the matter to a vote; and Mr. and Mrs. Dickson were duly elected members of the Never-Give-Up California Mining Company, with all the rights and privileges appertaining thereto, the vote being unanimous.

"Now I'll appoint Hammer Jones and Rad Randolph a committee to notify Mr. and Mrs. Dickson of their election and to escort them to the offices of the Never-Give-Up California Mining Company," and Mr. Conroyal smiled.

Ham and Mr. Randolph at once caught up their hats and hurried off to perform their pleasant mission; and in five minutes were back with the wondering man and woman on their arms between them.

As briefly as possible Mr. Conroyal now told the story of the skin map and the Cave of Gold; and how they had every reason to believe that the men who had robbed them were the same men who had murdered the miner, and who now were striving so desperately to secure the skin map; and in proof that the robbers and the murderers were the same, he showed the note and the dagger, which they had found on the table, in evidence that the men had been there that afternoon.

"Now," he concluded, "Ham thinks, and we all agree with him most emphatically, that, since we are in a way responsible for bringing the robbers down upon you, it would be no more than fair for us to invite you to join with us in our search for this Cave of Gold, understanding, of course, that, if the gold is found, all are to share alike, as all will have to share alike the dangers and the difficulties of finding and keeping it; and, judging by the note we found on the table, the dangers will be real enough. Of course we are not sure that the cave really exists, nor, if it does exist, that we will be able to find it; but we have faith enough in it to give it a try. We plan to start on the hunt just as soon as we can get ready, probably sometime tomorrow. This I think explains the matter sufficiently for you to come to a decision. Are you with us?"

"Yes! Yes!" exclaimed both Mr. and Mrs. Dickson eagerly.

"In to the death, as the note says," added Mrs. Dickson, smiling. "And we thank you from the bottoms of our hearts for the chance."

"Do you know this murdered miner's name?" Dickson asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I think I know the man."

"John Stackpole, the map says," answered Mr. Conroyal.

"That's the man!" declared Dickson excitedly. "The very man I went prospecting with last fall. He had some crazy idea in his head then about a Cave of Gold that an old Indian whom he had cured of some disease, he had been an army doctor once, had told him he had found in a hidden gulch that opened into a canyon. We hunted all up and down the canyon, into which the Indian said the gulch opened, but we couldn't find no such gulch as the Indian described, and had to give it up. You remember my telling you all about it, don't you, Mollie?" and Dickson turned to his wife.

"Yes, yes," assented Mrs. Dickson eagerly. "You went on the trip while I was away to Sacramento City and you told me all about it, when I got back. Queer how things do turn out!"

"And so Stackpole really found the cave at last; but at the cost of his life," and Dickson's face saddened. "Too bad!—I mean his murder; for he was a good sort of a fellow, when he was away from liquor, but, let him get a little whiskey down him, and he was as ugly as the devil. I reckon that it was drink that drove him out of the army in disgrace; and I reckon it was drink that caused his murder; for he was a very cautious man and would have said nothing about his discovering the Cave of Gold, especially to strangers, if he had been in his right senses—Can I, can I see that map?" and Dickson's face suddenly lighted up. "Possibly I know the place."

"Sure," and Mr. Conroyal turned to Thure. "Get out the map, Thure."

Thure's face reddened a little, but, turning his back to Mrs. Dickson, he quickly, with the aid of his knife, ripped open the bosom of his shirt, and, pulling out the map, handed it to his father, who at once spread it out on the table in front of Dickson.

"Lot's Canyon!" Dickson cried excitedly, almost the moment his eyes fell on the map. "Why, that's the very name we gave the canyon where we tried to find the hidden gulch, on account of a white pillar of rock, that Stackpole said might have been Lot's wife. And here is the very pillar itself!" and he pointed to the little square on the map marked Lot's Wife. "And the Big Tree! And the Devil's Slide! And Goose Neck Lake! Every one of them names that we gave to places! I am sure that that is the same canyon that Stackpole searched for the Cave of Gold when I was with him," and Dickson turned an excited face to Mr. Conroyal. "It's about a five days' tramp from here."

"That's what the dying miner said," broke in Bud eagerly.

"And do you think you can find that canyon again?" asked Mr. Conroyal anxiously. "The trail on the map is none too clear; and I reckon we'd have to do some hunting before we found it, with only the map to guide us."

"I am sure I can," answered Dickson, his eyes still on the map.

"Well, then, we are in great luck," declared Mr. Conroyal. "I—Jumping grasshoppers, if we are not forgetting all about that polite note!" he exclaimed, as his eyes happened suddenly to fall on the dagger and the bit of paper, which, during all this time, had lain on the table neglected. "Now, what shall we do about that?" and his eyes flashed around the circle of faces.

"Let's first see if the string is really there," proposed Thure.

"Good idee," and Ham caught up the candle and started for the door, followed by all the others, Thure and Bud at his heels.

Within six feet of the door they found a sharpened stick thrust into the ground, with the end of a strong string tied to it. The string ran along the ground as far as the eye could see and disappeared in the darkness of the night, in the direction of a thick clump of trees forty rods away.

"Wal, now, they shore are cunnin' cusses!" and Ham's eyes followed the string admiringly until it was lost in the darkness. "Jest tie th' map tew th' end of this string, an' somebudy out thar somewhere in th' darkness will pull it tew him, without nobudy here bein' th' wiser for it. Not a durned bit of use tew follow up th' string neither. They could shoot an' cut an' run long afore we could see them in th' darkness. They shore are good at planning th' durned skunks! Say, jest supposin' we send 'em a leetle message, jest tew see how th' string works," and Ham turned to the others, a broad grin on his face.

This impressed all as a good idea, and they hurried back into the house to prepare the message. In a few minutes the message, written on the back of the piece of paper which they had found on the table, was ready. It was brief, but to the point, and read:

The paper, with the message on it, was now rolled up tightly, and all hurried out to the string.

Mr. Conroyal took the paper, and, kneeling down by the side of the stick, untied the string, tied the little packet of paper strongly to it, and then gave the string three sharp, strong jerks.

The response was prompt. Hardly had he given the last jerk, when the string was pulled out of his hand, and the little packet of paper started bobbing along over the ground toward the distant clump of trees, with all watching its progress with fascinated eyes, until it disappeared in the darkness.

For, perhaps, ten minutes they stood there, no one speaking a word, and all eyes turned in the direction whither the little packet of paper had disappeared. Then they saw a faint glow in the little clump of trees, as if someone had struck a match.

"I reckon they're readin' it," grinned Ham. "Wonder how they like it?"

Ham did not have to wonder long; for, almost as he uttered the last word, a spurt of flame leaped out from the dark shadows of the distant clump of trees, and a rifle bullet whistled so close by his face that it burnt the end of his nose, and buried itself in the logs of the house.

"Gosh A'mighty, he's got my nose!" and Ham made a break for the door of the house, one big hand holding on to the end of his nose.

In two seconds all were in the house and the door shut.

"How much on it did he git? Not enough tew spoil my beauty, I hopes," and Ham held a lighted candle in front of his face before a small mirror hanging on the wall. "Wal, I'll be durned! Jest burnt th' tip end on it!" and he set the candle down on the table in disgust.

The darkness of the night and the wilderness of the surrounding mountains made absolutely useless any attempt to follow up their enemies; and, after an hour spent in discussing plans, Mr. and Mrs. Dickson returned to their house, and our friends hurried into their bunks, to get the rest needed to fit them for a busy morrow.

PEDRO

The next morning all our friends were up an hour before sunrise; for the Never-Give-Up California Mining Company had much to do that morning, if they started on the hunt for the Cave of Gold that day, as they hoped to do. The horses had to be brought from the little valley five miles away, where they had been turned out to pasture, needed supplies of food and clothing and tools had to be procured at the stores of Hangtown, and everything had to be made ready for the rough journey through the wilderness of mountains and forests to the northeast. But nine men and one woman can accomplish much in a few hours; and by noon everything was in readiness for the start, and the horses stood saddled and bridled and packed, ready for the journey, before the door of the log house, while our friends gathered around the rough table inside for their last meal in the house that had sheltered them for so long.

"Seems almost like leaving home," declared Mr. Conroyal, as his eyes glanced slowly around the familiar room.

"It shore does," agreed Ham. "We've had some mighty good times in the old house; an' I hopes th' fellers who move in when we're out, will be sort of gentle tew things. Somehow it seems a leetle cruel tew desert them tew friendly old rockers thar, that have so often given ease an' comfort tew our tired bodies, not knowin' what sort of critters will next sot down in 'em," and his eyes rested on the two barrel-rockers. "They seem tew be a lookin' at me right now, sort of forlorn an' reproachful-like," and a smile lighted his face at the whimsical thought. "Wal, that kind of philosophizin' won't dig no gold. Now, dew you reckon them skunks are on th' watch an' will try tew foller us?" and the smile left his face.

"Yes," answered Mr. Conroyal. "They have probably been watching us all the morning. When Frank and I started out as soon as it was light enough to see to try and trace the string and maybe get onto the trail of the scoundrels, we both feel certain that we were watched and that somebody was warned of our coming, because, before we'd gone a dozen rods, we heard a coyotelike bark, coming from way up the mountain-side and ending in a howl that we are sure never came from a coyote's throat; and, when we got to the clump of trees, we found signs of someone having been there only a few minutes before, and followed the trail to a rocky gulch a dozen rods beyond the trees, where we lost the trail on the hard rocks. Yes, they sure will try to follow us; for now, I fancy, their plan is, since they can't get hold of the map, to let us find the gold and then to try and get it away from us. At least that is the way Frank and I figure it out; and we've got to give them the slip somehow somewhere between here and Lot's Canyon, or fight for the gold. Quinley and Ugger have probably gathered together a band of cut-throats, and figure on being able to get the gold away from us after we have found it."

"And we calculate," continued Frank Holt, "that the best way to try and give them the slip will be to go into camp early to-night; and then about midnight to suddenly and quietly break camp and steal away under cover of the darkness, hoping to get away without their knowing it."

"I reckon they're tew cute tew be fooled that easy," and Ham shook his head.

"And so do we," grinned back Holt. "But we calculate that it will make them think that we think that we have fooled them, and so they won't consider it necessary to keep so close watch on us, and we can try to make our real getaway the next night or the night after."

"That sounds more like it," and Ham grinned his approval. "Wal, since we all 'pear tew be through eatin', let's git a-goin'," and he jumped up from the table and hurried out doors, nearly stumbling over a thin, sallow-faced, middle-aged Mexican, who stood near the door apparently waiting for someone to come out.

"Hello, Pedro! What you doin' here?" and Ham scowled down on the little Mexican, whom he had often seen working about Coleman's store. "Coleman send you for something?"

"No, señor," answered the Mexican. "Coleman kick me this morning; and now I no longer work for Coleman. I now would cook and keep camp for señors," and he bowed, with a flourish of both his thin arms. "Get wood, make fire, cook, carry water, clean dish, all I do for señors. I very good cook. Coleman say I make best flapjacks in Hangtown. All I do for señors for one ounce gold-dust a week. Si, señors?" and his bright black eyes flashed questioningly around the circle of faces that, by this time, had gathered around him.

"But, see, our hosses are packed. We're 'bout tew break camp," and Ham pointed to the horses.

"Si, señor," answered Pedro, smiling. "I know how pack horse, so pack no slip under belly. I go where señors go. I do good work, kind, faithful, honest," and again he smiled, until his teeth showed like two rows of yellow ivory in his mouth.

"Now," and Ham turned questioningly to the others. "I wonder if 'twouldn't be a good thing tew take Pedro 'long? He could help a lot 'bout hoss-packin' an' cookin' an' things, an' could dew all th' dirty heavy work for th' Leetle Woman."

"Reckon you're right, Ham," declared Mr. Conroyal. "Shall we take the Mexican on his own terms?" and he glanced inquiringly around.

"Yes, and a good bargain I call it," assented Mr. Randolph. "Pedro couldn't have staid as long as he did with Coleman, if he hadn't been a pretty decent sort of a Mexican; and he can help a lot about camp."

And thus it came about that Pedro, the Mexican, entered the service of our friends, without a thought of suspicion that he might be other than what he seemed coming into the head of one of them. If they had not seen him so often working about Coleman's store and felt sure that he was only an ignorant Mexican menial, they probably would have been a little more cautious about taking him with them on such a venture as they were about to undertake.

Mrs. Dickson was given one of the horses to ride, although she protested that she was just as able to walk as anybody; but the other five horses were all loaded with the packs containing the supplies for the journey and the mining tools, the men, of course, all walking. The five pack-horses were placed in charge of Pedro and brought up the rear of the little column of men that now marched slowly over the hill that flanked Hangtown and off toward the unknown wilderness of mountains and forests to the northeast, Ham and Dickson and Mr. Conroyal in the lead.

For the first two or three days' march, or until they had passed beyond the region where the miners were at work, their way would be plain. They had only to follow the trail of the miners to Humbug Canyon, the last known place marked down on the skin map. But from Humbug Canyon on there would be no trail to follow and they would be obliged to trust to the guidance of Mr. Dickson and the skin map to bring them into Lot's Canyon. After that they would have to depend entirely on the map and their own skill to discover the hidden opening into Crooked Arm Gulch.

Naturally Thure and Bud were in high spirits, now that they were actually on their way to the marvelous Cave of Gold; and, boylike, they allowed no thoughts of the threatening perils from Ugger and Quinley and their band of cut-throats to trouble their minds or to distract their attention from the wonderful scenes constantly unfolding before them, as they advanced along the trail leading to Humbug Canyon, where something interesting or beautiful or both met their eyes each moment, no matter in what direction they looked. Now it was some wonderful formation of nature—great masses of rocks towering thousands of feet above their heads, picturesque little mountain-surrounded valleys, deep canyons and gulches and ravines and chasms, beautiful cascades of water plunging over precipitous cliffs to fall in a stream of sparkling jewels on the rocks at their base, or great forests of columnlike trees, or winding, murmuring, plunging, seething, turbulent little streams of water rushing furiously toward some far-off valley, and like marvels and beauties of nature. Again, in entering some little valley or ravine, they would come suddenly upon a picturesque little company of miners hard at work with picks and shovels and pans and cradles, searching for the elusive yellow grains of gold. Indeed, during that first afternoon, they found the miners everywhere, in the valleys, in the gulches and the ravines, along the streams, wherever there seemed the least prospect of finding gold, there these wild knights of the pick and the shovel were sure to be found; and, as they passed, the latest mining news would be shouted back and forth, enlivened with rude sallies of wit and merry well-wishes.

Sometimes they would pause for a few minutes to talk with the miners and to watch them at their work; and, on one of these occasions, Thure and Bud saw, for the first time, a couple of miners at work with a cradle, as this queer machine used to separate the gold from the dirt is called.

"I don't wonder it is called a cradle," Thure exclaimed, the moment he caught sight of the odd-looking contrivance. "Why, if it wasn't for that hopper on the upper end and the man shoveling dirt and pouring water into it, one would surely think that fellow was rocking his baby to sleep in its cradle. Can't we wait here a little while and watch them work it?" and Thure turned to his father. "The horses need a rest anyway."

"Going to clean up soon?" Mr. Conroyal called to the men.

"In about ten minutes," answered the shoveler. "And, I reckon, we can show some gold when we do. Won't you wait and see how it pans out?" he invited cordially.

"Oh, do, please!" cried both the boys.

"All right," assented Mr. Conroyal. "A rest won't hurt the horses, and I am sure the clean up will interest you boys."

"Bully! Come on. Let's get closer," and Thure started on the run for the spot where the two men were working.

The men had placed the cradle within a few feet of where they were digging up the pay-dirt, and near the cradle they had dug a small reservoir, which was kept constantly filled with water by means of a small trench dug from the little mountain stream a dozen rods away, so that they had both the water and the dirt handy, two very necessary things to make cradling successful, unless the pay-dirt is very rich. The machine itself, as Thure said, looked very much like a rudely made, baby's cradle. The body was about the same size and shape as the ordinary homemade box cradle seen in the homes of thousands in those days and underneath it were two similar rockers, but here the resemblance ended. One end of the cradle-box was a little higher than the other end, which was left open, so that the water loaded with the waste dirt could run out; and on the upper end stood a hopper, or riddle-box, as it was frequently called, about twenty inches square, with sides four inches high and a bottom made of sheet-iron, pierced with holes half an inch in diameter. Directly under the hopper, which was not nailed to the cradle-box, was an apron of wood, fastened to the sides of the cradle-box and sloping down from the lower end of the hopper to the upper end of the cradle-box. Two strips of wood, about an inch square, called riffle-bars, were nailed across the bottom of the cradle-box, one at the middle and the other near the lower end. An upright piece of wood, nailed to one side of the cradle-box, furnished a convenient handle for the man who did the rocking. Such, briefly described, was the make of the curious machine that had so aroused the interest of Thure and Bud.

"Ever see a cradle work before?" asked the man who was shoveling the dirt and pouring the water into the hopper, as Thure and Bud came running up, their eyes shining with interest.

"No," answered Thure. "It sure is a funny looking machine."

"It sure is," agreed the man. "But a fellow can clean two or three times as much dirt with it as he can with a pan and do it better. This is the philosophy of it," and he shoveled the pay-dirt into the hopper until it was a little over half filled, and then, picking up a long-handled dipper, began dipping water out of the reservoir and pouring it on the dirt in the hopper, while the other man constantly kept the cradle rocking back and forth. "You see," continued the man, "the motion and the water loosens and softens the dirt until all of it, except the larger stones, falls through the holes in the bottom of the hopper and runs down the apron to the upper end of the cradle and then down the bottom of the cradle and over the riffle-bars and out the lower end, leaving the gold and the heavier particles of sand and gravel behind the riffle-bars. But a fellow has to keep the cradle in constant motion, or the sand will pack and harden behind the riffle-bars and allow the gold to slide over it, instead of sinking down through it, as gold always will when sand or gravel is loose or in motion," as he spoke, he thrust his hand into the hopper and picked out a couple of stones too large to pass through the holes in the bottom of the hopper, and, after closely examining them to see that there was no gold clinging to their sides, threw them away.

"But, how do you get the gold out of the cradle?" queried Bud. "It seems to be mixed all up with a lot of heavy sand and gravel behind the riffle-bars."

"We will show you, just as soon as we wash out this hopper full of dirt," replied the man. "Ay, Hank?" and he turned to his companion, the rocker.

"I reckon it is about time to make a clean up, Dave," assented Hank, shifting the other hand to the cradle handle. "Anyhow both my arms are about plumb tired out."

After about ten minutes of this vigorous rocking all the dirt had been dissolved and nothing remained in the hopper except a number of stones, too large to fall through the holes in its bottom, which had been washed clean by the water and the shaking they had received.

"There, I calculate that will do the business," and the man addressed as Dave, dropped the dipper, with which he had been pouring the water into the hopper, while Hank stopped rocking the cradle and, rising to his feet, stretched up both arms over his head with a sigh of relief.

"Say, but this gold-digging is darned hard work," and he grinned down at the two boys.

"A darned sight harder than measuring cloth behind a counter," laughed Dave, as he lifted the hopper off the cradle and with a quick jerk threw the stones out of it and laid it down on the ground. "But a fellow gets something for his hard work—that is, he does if he is lucky," he added, as he picked up a large iron spoon from the ground near the cradle. "Now we'll see how the gold pans out," and bending over the cradle he began digging out the gravel and sand behind the riffle-bars with the spoon and throwing it into a gold-pan, which Hank held.

By this time all the company, except Pedro, who had been left in charge of the pack-horses, had gathered around the two men and were watching the cleaning up process with the greatest interest.

"'Bout how much dew you expect she'll pan out?" queried Ham, as Dave scraped out the last spoonful of sand and gravel and threw it into the pan.

"Somewhere between three and four ounces," answered Dave. "At least that is about what we usually clean out. How does she feel, Hank?" and he turned to his partner, who was running his fingers speculatively through the wet sand in the pan.

"I'll bet you an ounce of dust that there is a good five ounces of gold in this pan right now," declared the man, his eyes shining.

Before replying Dave took the pan and ran his fingers a few times through the sand.

"I'll go you. Wash her out," and he handed the pan back to Hank.

Hank now took the pan to the little stream of water, where the swift current would help in separating the gold from the sand; and in a few minutes his skilful hands had succeeded in washing out of the pan all the sand and gravel, except a thin layer of black sand, that was too heavy to wash out without danger of washing out the gold with it, which now could be seen sparkling here and there in the sand.

"Want to back out?" and Hank held the pan up in triumph in front of Dave's face.

"Sure not. There is not over four ounces there," answered Dave, after a moment's close examination of the sand. "Get out your magnet."

Hank now thrust one of his hands into his pocket and pulled out a large horseshoe magnet, the ends of which he at once began passing over the black sand in the bottom of the pan; and, since the black sand was nearly all iron, the magnet force caused it to cling to the horseshoe and in this ingenious manner the remaining sand was quickly drawn from the pan, leaving a thin, a very thin layer of gold-dust lying on its bottom.

Dave now produced a small balance from one of his pockets and the gold-dust was quickly gathered up and weighed.

"I win! Five ounces and a half!" shouted Hank triumphantly, at the same time giving Dave a resounding whack on his back with the flat of his hand. "That's the best clean up we've had since we started digging here. I reckon you boys brought us good luck," and he grinned joyously into the faces of Thure and Bud.

"Five an' a half ounces! That's a mighty good clean up," declared Ham, critically eyeing the little pile of gold-dust on the scale. "How often dew you clean up a day?"

"Usually about four times," answered one of the men. "But sometimes, when the shoveling is good, we get in another clean up or two by working a little late."

"Wal, tew hundred an' fifty or three hundred dollars' worth of gold a day is shore dewin' pretty well for tew men; an' I hopes y'ur good luck continues."

"No more measuring cloth behind a counter for me, if it does," laughed Dave. "You see Hank and I were both clerks in a drygoods store back East; but we will both be proprietors when we get back, if our good luck holds out only a few months longer," and the look on the faces of the two men told how much they were counting on that proprietorship.

"I am sure your good luck will continue," smiled Mr. Conroyal encouragingly. "But now we must be on our way," and he led the way back to where Pedro was waiting with the horses.

That night our friends made their camp in a little grove of trees that grew on the bank of a streamlet flowing through a small mountain valley, where there was an abundance of water, wood, and grass.

Pedro proved himself so great a success at unpacking the horses and attending to the rougher camp duties that all felt like congratulating themselves on having secured his service. He was willing and cleanly, two rather rare qualities in the Mexican camp menial, who was usually sullen in disposition and dirty in person and habits. He also proved to the satisfaction of all that his flapjacks deserved all the praises that Coleman had given them.

"He's a jewel," declared Mrs. Dickson enthusiastically. "And, if it wasn't for something snaky and creepy-crawly looking in his eyes, I had rather have his help than that of most women's. But I guess that queer look and the way he has of watching all of us comes from his being Mexican. Now," and she lowered her voice, "are you still planning to break camp sometime during the night and try to fool Ugger and his men, if they are trying to keep watch of us?"

"Yes," replied Mr. Conroyal. "The moon will be up about midnight; and, I reckon, that will be about the best time for us to try to make our getaway. So the sooner we all get to sleep the more rest we will get. Now, how about the guard?" and he turned inquiringly to the circle of men who had gathered around the camp-fire for a quiet little talk, after the supper had been eaten and all the camp duties had been attended to. "Do you think it necessary for us to post guards over the camp nights?"

"Sart'in," declared Ham. "Them skunks would be shore tew be up tew some devilment, like stealin' our hosses or something if we didn't; an' I don't calculate on lettin' 'em git th' start on us, if watchin' will prevent it. I'm for havin' a guard every night, until we git safe back tew civilerzation ag'in. Them's uncommon cunnin' scoundrels what's on our trail, an' we don't want tew take no chances with them."

"That's exactly the way I feel about it," agreed Mr. Conroyal. "Twould be foolish to run any needless chances. Rex, you will stand guard for the first two hours. Then you can awaken Dill, who will keep guard until it is time to arouse the camp, which will be just as soon as the moon rises, somewhere around midnight. Now everybody but Rex get into their blankets."

A small tent had been secured for the use of Mrs. Dickson, into which she now retired; but the men found "soft" spots of ground near the camp-fire, spread out their blankets on them, and, rolling themselves up in the blankets, lay down to as sound a sleep as ever blessed a man in the most comfortable of beds.

A little after midnight, just as the white disk of the moon rose above the tops of the mountains to the east, Dill quietly awoke his father; and then the two quietly, and cautioning all to make as little noise as possible, awoke the others.

Pedro, who had lain down near the horses, was at first inclined to be surly, when aroused from a sound sleep and told to pack the horses as quickly and as quietly as possible; but in a few minutes all his surliness had vanished and he was doing the work with a swift and skilful dexterity that showed long practice.

In half an hour the horses were packed and everything was ready to start.

"Now," and Mr. Conroyal lowered his voice almost to a whisper, "there must be no talking and everyone must move quietly, so as to make as little noise as possible, until we have put a couple of miles between us and the camp. I'll go on ahead and the others can follow in single file. Rex, you and Dill and Thure and Bud help Pedro with the horses. You had better lead them for awhile. We will leave the camp-fire burning. Everybody ready?"

"Yes"—"Yes," came in whispers.

"All right. Come on," and Mr. Conroyal, walking carefully so as to make as little noise as possible, moved off down the trail that showed faintly in the moonlight.

In the excitement of the moment no one saw Pedro bend quickly down to the ground, just before starting, and swiftly slip a piece of paper on which was written the two words, "Humbug Canyon," under a stone that lay near the camp-fire, and then, with a cunning gleam in his snaky black eyes straighten up and give all his attention to the horse he was to lead.

All now fell into line and followed close behind Mr. Conroyal, Thure and Bud and Rex and Dill and Pedro each leading one of the pack-horses.

For a mile the trail was over the soft grass-covered sod of the valley, which muffled the sounds made by their moving feet, so that they might have passed within half a dozen rods of a camp without a man in it dreaming that a little company of men and horses were passing, unless he chanced to see them. Then the trail again entered the defiles of the mountains, where the going was rough and difficult and sometimes dangerous, on account of their not being able to see clearly in the dim light of the moon; but Mr. Conroyal kept pressing steadily and silently onward, and as steadily and as silently all the others followed.

There was no talking, even after they had passed the danger zone. No one seemed to care to talk. There was something in the mystery of the night and the wilderness, in the white light of the moon falling on tree and rock and mountain and valley, in the silence of the vast surrounding forests and mighty piles of towering rocks that stilled the tongue.

For a couple of hours they journeyed steadily and silently on through the moonlit wilderness; and then Mr. Conroyal came to a halt in a narrow little valley.

"I reckon we've thrown the scoundrels off the trail by now, if we are going to to-night," he said; "and so we might as well go into camp again and rest up until sunrise; and as this looks like a good place we will go into camp right there under those trees," and he pointed toward a little grove of evergreen oaks that grew a few rods away.

All were tired and all were sleepy; and, consequently, all welcomed the decision to go into camp, and acted on it so promptly that, in fifteen minutes, all, except the guard, were rolled up in their blankets and soon were sound asleep.

THE MYSTERY OF THE TENT

"I reckon we otter make Humbug Canyon afore dark tew-night," Ham declared, as our friends, notwithstanding the break in their rest of the night before, moved out of the little valley, where they had camped, as soon as it became light enough to see the trail the next morning.

"Yes," assented Mr. Conroyal, "but we will have to keep going to do it. Do you suppose we fooled Ugger and his gang and threw them off our trail last night?" and he turned a little anxiously to Ham and Frank Holt, who were walking by his side.

"If they didn't have no one on watch, I reckon we did," answered Ham; "but it's more'n likely they're cunnin' enough tew be on th' lookout for jest such tricks an' that they know right now where we be. They know it wouldn't dew for them tew lose track of us in this here wilderness of mountains, where 'twould be like tryin' tew find a needle in a haystack tew try tew hit our trail ag'in, once it was lost; an' so, I reckon, some on 'em has got an eye on us right now, an' that we'll have tew play a shrewder trick than that tew fool 'em. But, maybe, 'twill work all right as a sort of a blind, an' make them think that we think that we have fooled them, an' so make 'em keerless, so that we can fool 'em th' next time. What dew you think, Steeltrap?" Ham still frequently called Frank Holt by his old name, Steeltrap Smith, a name that had been given to him on account of his skill as a trapper, when his own name was unknown even to himself, as the readers of this series of books will remember.

"I think you are about right, Ham," replied Holt, "although I should not be much surprised if we gave them the slip last night. I kept watch all the time that we were on the move yesterday, but nary a sign of anybody following our trail could I discover. They sure must have a cunning trailer, or else they're not depending on keeping us in sight. Perhaps they got more about the trail from the old miner than we think they did, and are on the watch for us at some point ahead, which they know we must pass."

"That's a shrewd guess, Frank," declared Mr. Conroyal. "Now," and his face brightened, "why wouldn't it be a good plan for us not to pass through Humbug Canyon at all; but to go around it and to try to hit the trail again on the other side? If there is any place ahead where they would be likely to be on the watch for us, it is at Humbug Canyon, because that is the last place on the trail they could be sure of without the map. The trouble will be to get around Humbug Canyon. Maybe there is no trail that we can follow but the one running through the canyon. Anybody here know anything about the region around Humbug Canyon?" and, raising his voice, he stopped and looked inquiringly around.

"Yes, a little," answered Dickson, quickly coming forward. "I spent about two weeks last fall prospecting in the mountains around it. What would you like to know?"

"Can we go to one side of Humbug Canyon and hit the trail to the Cave of Gold again beyond?" inquired Conroyal eagerly. "If there has been anybody stationed in Humbug Canyon to look out for us, we would like to fool them by not passing through it at all."

"I think we might do it by working around through Owl Gulch about five miles to the east of Humbug Canyon," Dickson answered thoughtfully: "but it will be considerable out of our way and the trail won't be nigh as good. I am not absolutely sure, but I think we could get through all right that way and not go nigh Humbug Canyon."

"Shall we risk it?" and Mr. Conroyal turned to the men, all of whom had been interested listeners to his query and to Dickson's answer.

"I think the idea a good one," declared Mr. Randolph, "because, if the old miner told them that the trail to the cave passed through Humbug Canyon, they'd be sure to have someone on the watch for us there; and, I reckon, we are good enough mountaineers to find the trail on the other side without much trouble."

"My sentiments tew a ha'r," agreed Ham emphatically. "Let's hit for Owl Gulch. 'Twould be worth goin' a hundred miles out of th' way tew shake them skunks."

"All right," and Mr. Conroyal turned to Dickson. "You are the guide from now on, Dick, so step to the front and we will follow."

This plan appeared to please all except Pedro, who, bending down by the side of one of the horses and pretending to tighten a rope holding the pack, scowled furiously and swore violently, under his breath, in Mexican; and the scowl was still on his face, when he again straightened up and prepared to follow along with the pack-horses.

"What's the trouble, Pedro? Flapjacks getting busy?" and Thure turned a grinning face to the Mexican.

"No. Pack slip and pinch finger in rope. Now all right," and the smile came back on Pedro's face.

But Thure noticed that the scowl returned again and again to his face that forenoon, as he walked along by the side of the pack-horses.

"Reckon the break in his sleep has made him cross," he thought, and gave the matter no more attention.

At noon, when they stopped to give horses and selves a short rest and a chance to eat their dinners, Pedro slipped off behind a rock for some ten minutes; and, when the journey was resumed, he lagged a little behind the others, pretending to be tightening one of the packs, and, once again, managed to slip, unseen, a little piece of paper under a stone and leave it near the camp-fire over which Mrs. Dickson had heated the coffee. This little feat seemed to fully restore his good-nature; for there were no more scowls on his face that day.

About the middle of the afternoon Dickson halted, where the stream along whose bank they had been walking for the last two hours forked, one branch flowing almost directly from the north and the other coming from the east, with a huge triangle of mountains widening out between them.

"Thither runs the trail to Humbug Canyon," and he pointed to the northern stream; "and thither runs the trail to Owl Gulch," and his finger turned to the eastern branch. "We are now about two hours from Humbug Canyon and some four hours from Owl Gulch. Remember I am not absolutely sure I can find the trail the other side of Humbug Canyon; but I think I can. Stackpole and I went by way of the canyon. Now, which shall it be?"

"Owl Gulch," answered Mr. Conroyal promptly. "I reckon we can find the trail all right again—Hi, there, Pedro, what sort of a heathenish charm is that you are making?" and he turned abruptly to Pedro, who the moment they had stopped had begun scratching curious lines with his knife on the face of a soft rock, by the side of which they had halted.

"Si, señor," and Pedro turned a solemn face to Mr. Conroyal, "'tis but a holy cross I am cutting to scare the devils away from following us up that evil-smelling stream," and he pointed to the east fork of the little river, from which arose a faint odor.

"Wal," grinned Ham, "I shore dew hope that you scare 'em away; for thar shore is devils a-follerin' us," and his grin broadened at sight of the startled look that came into Pedro's face.

"Madre de Dios!" and Pedro crossed himself swiftly.

"But, even a devil must cotch a feller afore he can run his pitchfork intew him," and Ham chuckled; "an' we ain't cotched yit. As for that thar stream," and he chuckled again, "th' devil once took a drink out of it, an' it's smelt of his breath ever since."

"There, that will do, Ham," laughed Mr. Conroyal. "Come on," and he started up the east fork of the river.

Pedro, the snaky look in his eyes showing more plainly than ever, swiftly cut a small arrow, with its head pointing up the east fork of the rivulet, underneath the cross, slipped the knife back into its sheath, and followed with the pack-horses, his sallow face now all smiles. Evidently he had explicit faith in the power of his charm to keep the devils from following them up the evil-smelling stream.

That night our friends camped in Owl Gulch, a steep, narrow defile, little more than a crack in the huge walls of surrounding rock; and the next day, after much arduous and violent climbing for horses and men up the gulch and over the low back of a mountain, they passed down into a quiet little valley, just as the sun sank behind the tops of the mountains to the west.

The moment Dickson entered the valley he uttered an exclamation of pleasure.

"Hurrah!" he cried. "We've hit the trail again! I am sure this is the little valley where Stackpole and I camped the first night out from Humbug Canyon. There should be a spring bubbling out of the ground at the point of that spur of rocks where you see that little grove of trees," and he pointed to a small grove of trees that clustered about the point of a ridge of rocks that projected, like a long bony finger, from the side of the surrounding mountains down into the little valley. "We made our camp in the grove. I'll know the place for sure when we get there by a tree that Stackpole girdled," and, accompanied by Thure and Bud, he started on the run for the little grove of trees now about half a mile away.

In a few minutes the three reached the trees. The spring was there! By its side stood a tall sycamore tree, dead, its trunk having been girdled by an ax, as the deep scars in its bark still plainly showed.

"There," and Dickson pointed triumphantly to the tree, "there is my witness, the very tree that Stackpole girdled, in order that he might have plenty of dry wood the next time that he camped here. And see," and he pointed excitedly to the blackened remains of a camp-fire that did not look to be many weeks old, "there is where he camped on his way back from the Cave of Gold. We sure are in luck!" and he turned to shout the good news to the others, who were now pushing their way eagerly through the trees.

"Here is where we camp for the night," declared Mr. Conroyal, when the excitement and the jubilation of the discovery that they were surely on the right trail again had somewhat quieted down; and all at once began joyfully preparing the camp for the night.

"It's queer how things dew turn out sometimes," philosophized Ham, when all were seated around a blazing camp-fire, built from the limbs of the dead sycamore, after the supper had been eaten and all the camp duties attended to. "Th' miner that murdered that tree, jest so that he might have dry wood, was murdered himself, jest for his gold; an' here we be a-settin' around an' takin' comfort from a camp-fire built from th' dead limbs of th' dead miner's dead tree, an' bound on a hunt for th' dead miner's gold. Wal, I shore hopes we have better luck than he did."

"Oh, shut up, Ham!" and Rex threw a discarded flapjack at Ham's head, with such good aim that it landed squarely over his big mouth. "You are enough to give the dumps to a man with the tooth-ache."

When the laugh that followed this admirable use of valuable ammunition had quieted down, Dickson turned to Mr. Conroyal.

"I think I would like to have another look at that skin map," he said.

"Certain, get the map, Thure," and Mr. Conroyal turned to Thure.

Thure hesitated a moment, and then, catching sight of Mrs. Dickson's little tent and receiving a smiling nod from her, he quickly entered the tent, and a few minutes later came out with the skin map in his hand, and handed it to Mr. Dickson.

Pedro, who was standing near, washing the few supper dishes in a gold-pan, started a little and almost visibly pricked up his ears at the first mention of the skin map, and his evil eyes followed Thure into the tent, with an intensity of look that was well for him was unseen by his employers.

Dickson took the map and spread it out on his knees, where the light of the camp-fire shone full upon it; and soon all were gathered around him, yes, all, even Pedro, who had softly left his dish washing and tip-toeing up to the heads bending absorbedly over the map, was now striving to secure a glimpse of the skin map directly from over the big shoulders of Ham.

Suddenly Ham straightened up his huge frame, with such a sudden jerk, that one of his shoulders came in so violent a contact with the point of Pedro's chin that the Mexican was lifted off his feet and thrown flat on his back to the ground.

"Wal, I'll be durned!" and Ham stared down in astonishment on the fallen Mexican. "Thought I heer'd someone breathin' over my shoulder. Now what might you be dewin' down thar?" and the eyes that glared down into Pedro's face began to glow angrily.

"I—I" stammered Pedro, as he staggered a little dizzily to his feet, both hands holding onto his head. "I but try to see what make so great interest to señors, when sudden up comes that great body and hit chin, like bunt of big bull, and knock head to ground. I did but follow my head, señor."

"Jest follered y'ur head, did you?" and Ham's anger vanished in roars of laughter, at the words of the unfortunate Mexican and the looks on his face, in which he was heartily joined by all the others, all except Mrs. Dickson, who inquired solicitously of Pedro if he was much hurt.

But Pedro's curiosity for the moment was fully satisfied, and, without making any reply, except to mutter something about American bulls under his breath, he retreated to his dish washing.

"Sarved him right," declared Ham emphatically, as all again resumed their examination of the skin map.

When the map had been sufficiently examined, Thure again retired into Mrs. Dickson's tent, where he again concealed the map in the bosom of his shirt; and when he came out again, apparently without the map, Pedro smiled knowingly.

Before going to her tent that night Mrs. Dickson sang a number of songs, and almost weirdly beautiful her voice sounded in the still night air of that little wilderness valley, concluding with Ham's favorite "Ben Bolt." Then she bade them all good-night and disappeared into her little tent.

Mr. Dickson and Thure were to stand guard that night until the moon came up, which would be about one o'clock in the morning. Consequently, as soon as Mrs. Dickson retired, all but these two rolled themselves up in their blankets near the camp-fire and were soon sound asleep. Thure and Dickson each picked up his rifle and took his station on opposite sides of the camp and began his long silent vigil.

The skies were overcast with clouds and the darkness was so dense that the watchers could not see six feet outside of the constantly dimming circle of the firelight. In a couple of hours the fire had burnt down so low, that, from where Thure stood near the horses, he could not even see the white of Mrs. Dickson's tent, although it was not over ten yards from where he stood; and he was about to step forward to replenish it, when a dark object leaped by him, so close that he could have touched it with his outstretched rifle, and disappeared in the darkness before he could utter a word or throw his gun to his shoulder, and the next instant the air was rent by a piercing shriek from Pedro, followed by the flash and the report of his pistol and his yells of fright.

In an instant every man in the camp was on his feet, his rifle in his hands, calling excitedly: "What is the trouble?" "What has happened?" and running to where Pedro was rolling about on the ground, calling on all the saints in the Mexican calendar to protect him, seemingly frantic with fear.

"Stop that yellin', you Mexican coyote, an' tell us what has happened, quick," and Ham bent down and, seizing the squirming Pedro by the shoulders, jerked him to his feet and dragged him unceremoniously to the camp-fire, which an armful of dry fuel caused to blaze up brightly.

"Madre de Dios! I know not! I know not!" cried the man, glaring wildly about him and clinging to Ham. "Unless it was the devil of these evil mountains. I lay sleeping, rolled up in my blanket, when,—poof!—something hit my side and something big and ugly tumble all over me and I see something black and awful jump in the darkness and I grab my pistol I always sleep with me in blanket and shoot—bang!—and the big black thing give one great jump and vanish, just like a black devil, in the darkness. Santissima! I know not what he was, if he was not the devil! I—"

"I saw him rush by me so close that I might have touched him with my rifle," here broke in Thure; "but, before I could speak or shoot, he had disappeared in the darkness, and then came Pedro's shot and yells."

"Look to the horses!" cried Mr. Conroyal. "See that everything is safe!"

At that moment Dickson appeared in the circle of light made by the camp-fire.

"All the horses are safe," he said. "Nothing appears to be missing. What does all this excitement mean? I saw nothing, heard nothing, until the shooting and yelling began—" He stopped abruptly and glanced swiftly around. "Mollie! Where's Mollie?" and he sprang toward the tent.

"Gosh! I plumb forgot th' Leetle Woman! She shore otter have showed up afore this," and Ham's face whitened, as his eyes followed Dickson into the little tent.

The fire was now burning so brightly that the tent showed plainly in its ruddy light; and the eyes of all fixed themselves on it, a look of dreadful apprehension on each whitening face.

For a moment all was silent after Dickson disappeared in the tent; and then came a yell of horror that made every man jump for the tent, just as Dickson staggered out with a squirming bundle in his arms, that he quickly laid down on the ground and began frantically untying the deerskin thongs with which it was tightly bound.

"Great God, if 'tain't th' Leetle Woman!" and Ham bent excitedly and with his knife began cutting the thongs, which bound Mrs. Dickson, head and all, in her own blanket as tightly as an Egyptian mummy.

In a moment her body was free; but, when the blanket was lifted from her face, her mouth was found to be so tightly stuffed, with a piece of cloth torn from her own dress, that she could not utter an audible sound. Dickson's strong fingers quickly pulled the cloth out of her mouth; and she lay, white and gasping for breath, but apparently unhurt, staring up wildly into the faces of the excited men.

"Take her into the tent, Dick, until she recovers from her fright and rough usage," whispered Mr. Conroyal, bending close to Dickson's ear.

Dickson quickly lifted his wife into his arms and carried her into the tent.

"Who did it?" and Mr. Conroyal's eyes searched anxiously the angry and mystified faces of the men, the moment Mr. Dickson vanished with his burden in the tent.

"Th' Lord alone knows for sart'in," answered Ham. "But, I reckon, 'twas one of them durned skunks. Jest wait 'til th' Leetle Woman gits tew feelin' like herself ag'in an' maybe she can give us some useful information."

But, in this conjecture, Ham was wrong; for, when something like half an hour later, Mrs. Dickson came out the tent, leaning on her husband's arm and looking very white, but otherwise little the worse for her experience, all the information she could give only added to the mystery.

She had been sound asleep when the attack was made. The first thing she knew a hand held her by the throat, so tightly that she could not utter a sound; and, when she opened her mouth, gasping vainly for breath, it was instantly stuffed full of rags, so firmly that she could not utter a loud sound. Then the hand was taken from her throat, her arms pressed closely to her sides, and she was tightly rolled up in her own blanket, head and all, and tied the way they had found her. For some little time after that she heard her assailant cautiously searching the tent. He appeared to be exceedingly anxious to find something; for every possible hiding-place in the tent had been thoroughly searched and every package or bundle had been opened. When the search was over, she heard the intruder creep softly out of the tent. Then had followed a few minutes of silence broken suddenly by Pedro's yells and shot. Owing to the darkness and to the fact that her eyes had been covered as quickly as possible, she could not give any idea of what her assailant looked like, only she did not think he was a large man.

This was all the information that Mrs. Dicksom could give; and a thorough search of the tent with a torch added nothing to it.

Thure and Pedro were again examined; but they could give no definite information. Thure had only caught a glimpse of the man, as he had rushed by him in the darkness; and Pedro appeared to have been too nearly frightened out of his wits to have seen anything correctly, even if it had been clear daylight, instead of the black night that it was. However both disagreed with Mrs. Dickson in one particular. Thure felt quite sure that the man who rushed by him was a large man; and Pedro was positive that he was a giant in size. Dickson had not seen the man at all. The horses and the packs, indeed the whole camp, were thoroughly examined with lighted torches; but nothing was found missing, nothing had even been disturbed outside of Mrs. Dickson's tent, and from here, so far as they could discover, not a thing had been taken.

"It's 'bout as plain as th' nose on a man's face that he was after th' skin map," Ham commented, when all had again gathered around the camp-fire to consider the mystery; "but, why should he look for it in th' tent? an' how did he git in thar? that's what gits me," and Ham shook his head. "Wal, thar is no use figgerin' on it any longer tew-night. Let's git back intew our blankets; an' maybe we can see things clearer in th' mornin'. It's tew tarnel dark even tew think," and Ham laid down on his blanket and rolled himself up in it and refused to have another word to say about the mystery that night.

"Reckon Ham is right," Mr. Conroyal declared, as that worthy disappeared in his blanket. "But I sure would like to have a look at the man, who can creep into our camp at night, right under the noses of the guards, and tie one of us up in a blanket, and search a tent, and make a clean getaway. I sure would like to have a look at that man."

"I'd want more than a look," and Mr. Dickson clenched both his hands. "I'd just like to get hold of him for about five minutes, the scoundrel!"

"And you are not the only one, Dick," and an angry light flashed into Mr. Conroyal's eyes. "But, what's the use! He's got away; and without leaving a clue, so far as I can see. Let's get into our blankets. Maybe, as Ham says, we can see clearer in the morning. Good night," and Mr. Conroyal turned to his blanket, followed by all the others, except Bud and Mr. Randolph, who were to act as guards during the remainder of the night.