The declaration by Frank Reade, Jr., that he was going to enter the Death Valley seemed to utterly terrify Beaver Bill.

The trapper said rigidly:

“Ye don’t mean that, pard?”

“Yes, I do.”

“That ye’ll enter the valley?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t ye know thar’s dead men down there for that same trick?”

“I do.”

“Then why tempt fate?”

“I’m going on a sure thing,” replied Frank. “You need not fear at all, my Christian friend. I am safe.”

“It’s my opinion ye’re crazy!”

Frank laughed merrily.

“I’ll show you!” he said.

He started to go down the trail, but the big trapper stepped in front of him.

“Hold on, pard!” he said, resolutely. “I’m a bigger man than you.”

“Well, what of that?”

“I reckon ye don’t know what’s fer yer own good. I’m not goin’ ter see yer go down thar.”

Beaver Bill was in earnest.

Frank saw this at once.

He understood the old trapper’s motive readily enough. But he was annoyed at the turn affairs had taken.

“Don’t be foolish, Bill,” he said. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t believe ye do.”

“Stand aside.”

“Not by a jugfull!”

Frank was in a quandary. He did not wish to have any trouble with the big trapper, yet he wanted to carry his point.

“Now, look here, Bill,” said he, sternly, “listen to reason.”

It was really quite a humorous situation. The big trapper was conscientious, and thought he was doing right.

On the other hand, Frank was confident that he had the right theory in regard to the valley, and that he would be incurring no risk.

But happily at this moment a startling incident terminated the affair.

Footsteps were heard upon the trail above them.

“Some one is coming!” whispered Frank.

In an instant both men glided into the deep shadows.

Down the path came the footsteps. Then a light flashed over the face of the cliff.

The two watchers saw the explanation of this at once.

A man stood upon the verge of the trail overlooking the valley, and in his hand he carried a torch.

One moment he stood there in full view.

He was a type of the westerner, with stout frame and heavy features. That he was one of the band of counterfeiters it was safe to assume.

Then he suddenly began to move the torch up and down making signals.

For full five minutes he continued these signals, closely watched by Frank and the trapper.

Then he turned and went up the trail out of sight and hearing.

Frank drew a deep breath.

“Well, Beaver Bill!” he exclaimed, “what do you think of that?”

“By beavers! I can’t make it out!” replied the perplexed hunter.

“Didn’t it look as if he was signalling to some one over in the valley?”

“I swar it did!”

Frank laughed quietly.

“And there isn’t any doubt but that was what he was doing,” he declared. “Ah, do you hear that?”

To the hearing of the two men from the depths of the valley came the sound of voices.

“Somebody is down thar!” exclaimed the astounded trapper.

“What did I tell you?” said Frank, triumphantly.

“Wall, it beats me. I ain’t anuther word to say. Let’s go down!” The trapper started down the trail, Frank followed him.

Once in the canyon they secreted themselves behind huge bowlders. They had not long to wait.

The voices drew nearer and then several dark forms entered the canyon coming boldly out of the Death Valley.

Turning from the canyon they went on up the trail.

Trapper Bill gripped Frank’s hand in the dark.

“Yer too deep fer me,” he muttered. “I’d never have believed it.”

“Don’t you see the simplicity of the thing now?” said Frank, eagerly. “We have discovered the secret of the valley. It would be easy enough to find our way through it in the daytime if we could locate those spots where the gas comes up.”

“I believe ye,” replied Beaver Bill. “I hain’t ’nuther word ter say. Jest ye go ahead and I’ll foller.”

“Well, what had we better do? Go up the trail or take a walk in the valley?”

“Wall, I reckon we had better foller ther trail fust.”

“All right.”

Frank led the way, and once more they climbed the cliff trail.

They were not far in the rear of the party which had just come out of the valley.

Their voices and footsteps could be plainly heard, and the two scouts pushed ahead to overtake them.

But suddenly the trail ceased its upward course, and Frank and Beaver Bill saw lights ahead.

They had reached the summit of the cliff, and were now upon a broad, level stretch of plateau.

Upon the western side the wall of the plateau jutted down perpendicularly fully a thousand feet into the Death Valley.

From this point a lofty view could be had.

The eastern wall of the plateau jutted down into the Great Basin with a sheer descent.

Indeed, it seemed as if one could not climb this elevation except by means of the one cliff path.

This made it a position which could easily be made almost unassailable.

Yet the counterfeiters did not seem to have taken any precaution of the kind.

Indeed, they had not even posted a guard at the cliff path.

Frank remarked this curiously.

Evidently they did not anticipate or fear an attack. It was at best an unusual state of affairs.

The party in advance of the two reconnoiterers had now half crossed the plateau.

Upon the western side and quite near to the verge a rude structure of stone and logs had been built.

About it were several smaller cabins of logs and boughs.

In fact, it bore the appearance of quite a respectable settlement.

Frank and Beaver Bill gazed upon the scene with interest and surprise.

“Goodness!” exclaimed the young inventor, with amazement. “I had no idea this was such a place. There is quite a den of the rascals here.”

“Yer right!” agreed the trapper. “I reckon, though, we’ve got to work pooty careful in this locality, for we’re close onto the foe.”

“I agree with you,” said Frank. “But I am very curious to see what is inside that stone house.”

“Wait a bit,” said the trapper, in a cautious manner. “I reckon it’ll be a better time to try thet arter they’ve made up ther minds ter turn in fer ther night.”

“All right; we will wait awhile.”

This they proceeded to do.

Time passed slowly, and then matters seemed to have got quiet in the counterfeiters’ camp.

It seemed as if the majority of them must have turned in, and with this belief Frank whispered:

“I think we’re safe enough now, Bill.”

“All right!” agreed the trapper.

With this they began to creep into the camp. Slowly and cautiously in the deep shadows they made their way toward the stone building.

Fortune seemed to favor them.

They met with none of the foe and the coast thus far was clear. Nearer they crept to the stone house.

There was a window upon the western side and up to this Frank crept.

A light flashed out into the night and the sound of hammers could be heard from within.

It was a risky thing to do but Frank crept to the window and peered in.

The sight which met his gaze was an astonishing one.

There was a long bench upon one side of the long room revealed to his gaze and upon it were piles of metal of the spurious kinds.

A furnace yawned at one end of the room and over it Frank saw huge melting pots.

At the bench six men were working with hammers at the counterfeit dies and heaps of the bogus silver dollars and gold eagles lay upon the floor.

It was certainly the bona fide interior of a counterfeiter’s den.

Nothing was lacking to make up the entire personnel and outfit.

The counterfeiters were working with great industry. They seemed utterly heedless of surroundings.

“Well, that beats anything I ever saw before,” muttered Frank Reade, Jr. “Just take a peep in there Bill.”

The trapper complied and was for a moment spell-bound.

“Wall, I swan!” he muttered. “I never saw the equal of that.”

“This is the worst den of the kind in America.”

“I should say so!”

For some moments the two spies watched the scene.

Then they cautiously withdrew.

In the shadows near they halted and the trapper whispered:

“What’s ther next move?”

“Well,” said Frank decisively, “it is very evident that unaided we can never hope to capture these miscreants. They are too many for us. The U. S. authorities should be notified and the troops from some fort near here should come to our aid.”

Beaver Bill nodded his head.

“Kerect, pard!” he affirmed. “And I kin tell ye jest where ter find ther sogers.”

“Where?” asked Frank, eagerly.

“Thar’s a hull detachment of ’em up here a ways on Blind river. They’re doing some government surveys, I reckon.”

“Enough!” exclaimed Frank. “Let us back to the Steam Horse. I will send Barney and Pomp after them immediately.”

“That’s ther talk.”

But Frank’s plan was hardly destined to be carried out.

At that moment a harsh, grating laugh sounded near them.

A sardonic voice said:

“I reckon it will be a good long while before you will succeed in bringing soldiers here, senors. Hands up, or you die this instant.”

With rapidity and before the two astonished men could act, they were surrounded by dark forms from the gloom.

They had been discovered, and plainly enough, their game was up.