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.



CHAPTER XXI

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, senor," answered the Mexican. "Coleman kick me this morning; and now I no longer work for Coleman. I now would cook and keep camp for senors," and he bowed, with a flourish of both his thin arms. "Get wood, make fire, cook, carry water, clean dish, all I do for senors. I very good cook. Coleman say I make best flapjacks in Hangtown. All I do for senors for one ounce gold-dust a week. Si, senors?" 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, senor," answered Pedro, smiling. "I know how pack horse, so pack no slip under belly. I go where senors 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.



CHAPTER XXII

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, senor," 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 senors, 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, senor."

"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.



CHAPTER XXIII

ON THE SHORE OF GOOSE NECK LAKE

The next morning the camp was again thoroughly examined; but no clues to the identity of the intruder of the night before could be found, nor could they follow his trail beyond the spot where he had apparently stumbled over Pedro. Here the ground, which happened to be a little soft, plainly showed where he had fallen and jumped to his feet and leaped off in the direction of the point of rocks, but farther than this it was impossible to trail him on account of the hardness of the ground. There was absolutely nothing more that they could do; for it would be useless to attempt to run him down in that wilderness of mountains; and they were obliged to leave the mystery of the tent; it was a great mystery to those strong watchful men how the gagging and the binding of Mrs. Dickson had been so quietly and effectively accomplished, unsolved for the present.

"Don't look much as if we'd thrown th' cunnin' devils off our trail, does it?" Ham grumbled, as our little company again started on their journey. "'Pears like as if we'd had all our trouble for our pains so far. Wal, they didn't git th' skin map; but it shows they shore could have got it, if they'd knowed whar it was," and his face clouded. "They might have sneaked up ahind Dickson or Thure jest as easy an' knocked 'em senseless an' bound an' gagged 'em. Reckon we've got tew be more keerful or they'll git th' map yit. 'Bout how much longer will it take us tew git tew that thar canyon?" and he turned anxiously to Mr. Dickson.

"We ought to make it in three days sure," answered Dickson. "Stackpole and I did it in a little over two days from here; but, on account of the pack-horses, it will probably take us a little longer."

"Shore you remember th' trail?"

"Yes," and Dickson's eyes turned northward. "Now that I am on the ground, things come back to me. See that opening between those two mountains?" and Dickson pointed to a ravine-like depression between two mountains some four or five miles away. "Well, I know we went up that ravine, because Stackpole pointed it out to me right from here, just as I am pointing it out to you; and that ravine, after a couple of miles, widens out into quite a little valley, with the mountain, called Three Tree Mountain on the map, near its upper end."

"Wal, we shore was in luck, Dick, when we took you intew th' partnership," Ham declared heartily; "for, I reckon, we'd had a durned long hunt a-findin' our way jest by that map, but now all we've got tew do is jest tew foller y'ur lead. Wal, lead on," and he grinned.

Dickson proved that his memory of the trail was correct; for, after they had entered the ravine between the two mountains and had gone up it for a couple of miles, it opened out into a beautiful little valley; and there, near its upper end, stood a huge round-topped mountain, bald of head, except for three tall trees that stood out against the horizon like three lonely sentinels.

"Hurrah!" yelled Thure, the moment his eyes caught sight of this mountain. "There is Three Tree Mountain! We sure are on the right trail. Bully for Dickson!"

Our friends now had passed beyond the realm of the hitherto ubiquitous miner. The wilderness was supreme. Everywhere around them mountains and forests and valleys and streams stood unchanged, as they came from the hand of God.

Game of all kinds was abundant. Bud shot a young buck elk, which they ate for supper, when they went into camp for the night at the foot of Three Tree Mountain.

The guard was doubled that night and the camp-fire was kept blazing brightly, so that no one could creep into camp unseen under cover of the darkness. These precautions proved effectual; and the night was passed without alarm.

Dickson found no trouble in following the trail during the day. At every turning point some remembered landmark would show him the right way to go. A short time before night they passed over a ridge of rocks and looked down into a quiet little valley, near the center of which lay a beautiful little lake.

"Behold!" cried Dickson, pointing to the water, that shone like red gold in the red rays of the setting sun. "Behold, Goose Neck Lake! It was while standing at this very spot and looking down on the peculiar necklike bend of the lake, that Stackpole gave it the name, Goose Neck Lake. There is a little grove of trees on its north shore that will make us a fine camping place. And tomorrow afternoon sometime we should be in Lot's Canyon! Come on," and he hurried down the ridge toward the lake.

It was dark when they reached the north shore of the lake and pitched their camp in the little grove of trees. All were in high spirits; for on the morrow they would be in Lot's Canyon, almost at their journey's end, almost within reach of the Cave of Gold!

For the last two days they had not seen nor heard a sign of their enemies and they were beginning to hope that, in the maze of deep gulches and ravines and little mountain-enclosed valleys through which they had been passing, they had given them the slip, and this hope added to their cheer. Consequently the little group that gathered around the camp-fire that night was unusually merry—all except Pedro, who went about his camp duties with a sullen troubled look on his face. Ever since the night Mrs. Dickson had been found tightly bound in her tent, his face had worn a troubled expression and his eyes were continually turning to Thure, with a wondering questioning look in them, as if there were something about the boy that he could not understand; and every time he had heard the name of the skin map mentioned he had become instantly alert, but always in such a way as not to attract attention in his direction. Now, on this night, his was the only gloomy face in the company.

"Looks as if we had given th' skunks th' slip at last," Ham said, as he seated himself on his blanket, spread near the blazing fire, and leaned back comfortably on his elbow. "An' I don't wonder; for I don't believe even Kit Carson himself could have kept on our trail through all them short twistin' gulches an' thick woods, through which we've ben passin' for th' past tew days. Howsomever, I reckon, we hadn't better let up none on th' caution bus'ness—But, let us forgit them skunks an' turn our minds tew more pleasant things, like a song from th' Leetle Woman," and he turned to Mrs. Dickson. "I jest sorter feel hungry for music tonight. Please sing 'Old Dan Tucker,' an' Th' Emergrants Lament' an'—"

"'Ben Bolt,'" laughed Thure.

"Shore," grinned Ham. "I couldn't go tew sleep without hearin' 'Ben Bolt,' but let us have 'Old Dan Tucker' first."

Mrs. Dickson was in splendid voice that night and sang with unusual fervor, even for her; and the men kept begging her for "just one more song," until, at last, with a laugh, she declared she just couldn't sing another song, and, bidding them all good night, hurried into her tent.

The guard was again doubled that night and instructed to keep the camp-fire blazing brightly. Hammer Jones, Frank Holt, Mr. Randolph, and Dill Conroyal, were to keep the first watch, through the darkest hours of the night, before the moon came up. The night was clear and the starlight bright enough to make objects dimly visible a few rods away. The grove where they were encamped was not large and the guards were stationed in its outskirts, where they could patrol all around it.

Hammer Jones' post was near the horses, on the opposite side of the grove from the lake. About twenty rods from him, out on the open valley stood a large tree, with three or four smaller trees growing around it. In the starlight he could see the outlines of these trees dimly. He stationed himself in the dark shadows of a large tree, where he could keep one eye on the horses and the camp, illuminated by the blazing camp-fire, and the other on the surrounding valley.

For a couple of hours he neither saw nor heard a suspicious sign or sound. Then from the little clump of trees came the hoot of an owl that caused him to straighten up quickly and to listen intently. Ham had spent the greater part of his life in the wilderness; and the voices of its wild dwellers were as familiar to him as were the voices of his fellow men; and something in the first hoot of that owl had awakened his suspicions. It did not sound exactly right. There was a false quaver at the end. In a minute the hoot was repeated, still with that unnatural quaver at its end.

Along the outskirts of the grove grew a thin line of short bushes. Ham now bent down until his form was hidden by these bushes, and began creeping slowly and very cautiously toward the clump of trees. In this way he was able to get some three or four rods nearer to the spot that had awakened his suspicions. During this cautious forward movement the hoot of the owl had been repeated three times, at intervals of about a minute, and the same false note had been sounded each time.

"I'd bet th' last coonskin in my pack that that's no owl hootin'," Ham muttered softly to himself, fixing his eyes intently on the dark shadows underneath the trees.

Suddenly he fancied he saw one of the shadows move.

"By gum, I'll chance a shot!" and swiftly throwing his rifle to his shoulder, he fired at the spot where he thought he had seen the shadow move.

There was a faint sound, like a smothered exclamation; and then all was still in the little grove of trees, nor could Ham's straining eyes detect any further movements.

But his shot had aroused the camp; and now all the men, except the guard, came running to him, their rifles in their hands, excitedly calling to know what was the matter.

"Jest a suspicious hoot of an owl an' a movin' shader," answered Ham. "I reckon thar was one of them durned skunks a-hidin' in that clump of trees, a-callin' out some signal; an' I shouldn't be none s'prised if my bullet pinked him. Leastwise I thought I heer'd a smothered cry."

"Get torches and we will see," cried Mr. Conroyal excitedly. "Maybe you got him, Ham."

Thure and Bud hurried to the camp-fire and soon were back with blazing pine torches in their hands.

There were no hostile Indians in that part of the country, and they knew that Ugger and his gang could not be there yet in sufficient force to dare venture to attack them, so they did not fear to advance on the little clump of trees with lighted torches in their hands.

There were three small trees and the one large tree and a few low bushes in the clump. The ground around these was as carefully searched as was possible by the light of the torches; but not a sign of Ham's human owl did they find.

"Must have been a real owl after all, Ham," Mr. Conroyal said, as he was about to give up the search and to return to the camp.

But, at this moment, Thure uttered a startled exclamation and, bending quickly, picked up something from the ground and held it up where the light of the torches showed it plainly to all.

It was a little finger freshly severed from a left hand!

"Marked him! By gum, I marked him!" cried Ham exultingly.

"You sure did, Ham," and Mr. Conroyal bent hastily and examined the finger carefully. "It came from the hand of a white man all right," he declared. "And the hand of rather a small man, the left hand. Well, you will know your man the next time you see him, Ham."

"I shore will," grinned Ham. "An', if I dew, I wants tew return him his finger; so I'll jest take charge of that leetle bit of anatominy," and, reaching out, he took the finger from Thure, and, carefully wrapping it up in a piece of buckskin, thrust it into one of his pockets. "Wal, th' excitement is all over now, boys, an' you can return tew y'ur downy couches an' soft pillers. I reckon thar won't be no more owl hootin' tew-night, leastwise not from that bird," and Ham chuckled.

All now returned to the camp and to their blankets; and Ham resumed his watch in the dark shadows under the big tree.

Ham was right. There was no more owl hooting that night. But the finding of that finger had brought uneasy thoughts to all. Evidently they had not succeeded in throwing their cunning enemies off the trail. And now, here they were within a few hours' march of Lot's Canyon, of the Cave of Gold, and with the scoundrels still hot on their track! What was to be done? How could they now hope to throw Ugger and his men off their trail, when all their efforts so far had been in vain? Indeed, how had Ugger and his men been able to keep on their trail, through all the maze of mountains and forests and winding gulches and twisting ravines through which they had been passing? That was a great mystery to all—to all, except Pedro.



CHAPTER XXIV

IN LOT'S CANYON

The next morning, just as they were about to start on their way Mr. Conroyal called the little company together.

"You all know what happened last night, and what it means," he said. "In spite of all our efforts to throw them off, that Ugger gang apparently are still on our trail. Now, Dickson says that we can make Lot's Canyon this afternoon; but, if we do, them skunks will be sure to follow us and to find it, too. Under such circumstances what shall we do? Shall we try again to fool them, by not going straight to the canyon to-day and see if we can't slip into it to-night without being seen? Or, shall we defy them, and march straight for the canyon, without any effort to hide our trail?"

"That last plan hits my bull's-eye," declared Ham emphatically. "If they want tew foller, let 'em foller. If they want tew fight, we'll give 'em all th' fight they want," and Ham's lips closed grimly. "I'm tired of tryin' tew dodge th' dirty sneakin' murderin' pack of cowards any longer. I gives my vote for marchin' as straight tew Lot's Canyon as th' good Lord an' Dickson can take us."

"Bully for Ham!" shouted Bud enthusiastically. "I vote with Ham," and he sprang to Ham's side.

"So do I," and Thure followed him.

"Me, too," and, with a laugh, Mrs. Dickson took her stand by the side of the boys.

And, with a cheer, all the others joined her.

"Reckon that means, straight for Lot's Canyon. Lead on," and Mr. Conroyal turned to Dickson.

Until about noon the trail wound around great hills of rocks, and in and out of deep gulches and rocky defiles, and over high ridges of rock; and then, just as the sun was nearing the meridian, it entered a broad mountain-enclosed valley, some six or seven miles long by about two miles wide. Near the upper end of the valley a tall pinnacle of rocks shot up into the sky, like a church steeple, at the head of what looked like an almost precipitous mass of rocks that rose many hundreds of feet above the level of the valley.

"See that rock?" and Dickson pointed triumphantly to the steeple-like rock at the head of the valley.

"Shore, not bein' blind," Ham answered. "What might it be doin' thar?" and he grinned.

"That rock," and Dickson paused to glance around the circle of faces that now surrounded him, "stands within half a mile of the Devil's Slide, which is the only way down into Lot's Canyon. Boys, we should be in Lot's Canyon in two hours!"

"Hurrah!" yelled Thure.

"Hurrah!" echoed Bud.

"Come on," cried Mr. Conroyal. "The sooner we get there the better. Pedro, see if you can't liven up them pack-horses a little."

"Si, si, senor," and Pedro began hurling volleys of Mexican oaths at the pack-horses and running from one to another of them, striking with his whip and urging with his voice, until the patient animals were moving as fast as the safety of their packs would permit.

Pedro appeared to be in unusually good spirits that day. All the gloom of the day before had vanished with the dawning of the morning of the night of the hooting owl.

In an hour and a half, so eagerly did they press forward, our little company had passed the steeple-like pinnacle of rocks; and in another fifteen minutes they had climbed to the top of a ridge of rocks, and were looking down a steep, narrow declivity, cut by the wonderous hand of nature, in a precipitous wall of solid rock that rose from the bottom of a canyon five hundred feet below them. The smooth floor of the declivity was not over a dozen feet wide and shot downward at an angle of about forty-five degrees.

"Gosh! I don't wonder Stackpole called that Th' Devil's Slide," and Ham's eyes stared down the steep slope of the declivity. "Ain't thar no other way of gettin' down thar intew that thar canyon?" and he turned to Dickson.

"Not that I know of," Dickson answered. "That was the way Stackpole and I went. It is not as difficult as it looks. The rock is not slippery, and, by being careful, a man can get down all right. But the horses! I don't know about them," and he glanced a little dubiously toward the six horses.

"We'll have to use ropes on them," declared Mr. Conroyal. "Two men to a horse. Get out the ropes."

In a few minutes five strong ropes had been secured from the packs, and preparations were immediately begun for helping the horses down the slide.

There were ten men in the company, including Pedro, and this enabled them to start all the pack-horses at the same time down the declivity. The method of procedure was simple. The middle of a strong rope some thirty feet long was placed under the neck of a horse and across the breast and fastened there, so that it could not slip down. Then two men took hold of the rope, one at each end, and, by walking a little behind and on opposite sides of the horse, they were in position to hold back the animal, should he start to slide or get to going too fast. In this way and with very little trouble, for the footing down the declivity was much better than they expected it would be, they soon had the six horses safely down the Devil's Slide.

All now stood at the bottom of a deep canyon, with walls of nearly perpendicular rock rising on both sides from five hundred to a thousand feet above their heads. The bottom was strewn with rocks of all shapes and sizes, and little clumps of trees and bushes grew here and there.

"This," and Dickson glanced a bit dramatically around him, "is Lot's Canyon. The white pillar of rock, called Lot's Wife on the map, is about a couple of miles farther up the canyon, and near it stands the Big Tree, and close by that tree, according to the map, should be the hidden entrance to Crooked Arm Gulch. And it must be well-hidden too; for, when I was with Stackpole, we couldn't find a sign of a gulch near the Big Tree, although I remember we looked especially sharp for it right there, because the Indian had told Stackpole that it was near a big tree and that was the biggest tree we could find in the canyon. I hope we have better luck."

"Let us hurry and get to the Big Tree," cried Thure impatiently. "I am sure that, if there is any entrance to any gulch there, some of us can find it. Come on," and the excited boy, with Bud by his side, started up the canyon.

Rex and Dill and Mr. Dickson at once joined the two boys, and the five hurried eagerly forward, leaving the others to come on more slowly with Pedro and the horses.

The canyon was from one hundred to two hundred feet wide at the bottom, and twisted and wound along between its gigantic walls of rock, like a huge serpent. Doubtless in some far distant age it had been the course of a mighty river; but now not a drop of water flowed along its rocky bottom and evidently had not for hundreds of years.

"Looks like a mighty good place for grizzlies," commented Rex, as they hurried along over the rough rocks of the bottom.

"And there has been one here not many minutes ago," supplemented Dill, pointing to the bark of a tree that had been freshly torn by the sharp claws of some powerful animal.

"And there he is!" cried Thure, as they made a sudden turn around a huge point of rocks, projecting a few feet out into the canyon, and came face to face with a huge male grizzly not a hundred feet away.

The grizzly appeared to be very greatly astonished at this sudden invasion of man into his hitherto undisputed realm of rocks, and a little offended. With a deep bass-drum-like "huff, huff," he reared his huge body up on his hind legs, and, turning his wicked little eyes on them, uttered a deep warning growl, as much as to say: "Now, if you men will turn right around and go back, I will not harm you."

"Shall we shoot?" asked Thure, cocking his rifle.

"No, not if the brute will get out of our way," answered Rex. "We have no time to fool with grizzlies," and, cocking his own rifle, he started straight toward the grizzly.

The growl of the bear deepened, and he made no sign of giving way to the intruders.

"All right, old man," and Rex stopped and threw his rifle to his shoulder. "Stand ready to fire, if my bullet fails to bring him down," he warned, as his eye glanced swiftly along the rifle barrel.

But Rex Holt was one of the best rifle shots in California, and knew exactly where to send his bullet in order to make it instantly fatal; and there was no need of a second shot, for almost at the instant of the crack of his rifle, the huge beast, with a deep startled, "huff," and a staggering leap toward them, tumbled sprawlingly to the ground, as if all his tough muscles had been suddenly turned to hot tallow, and with a few quiverings, the great frame lay still.

"No time to bother with him now. Let him lay there for the present. Come on," and Rex, pausing by the side of the grizzly only long enough to assure himself that the monster was dead, hurried on up the canyon.

For half an hour longer they struggled on over the broken rocks that covered the bottom of the canyon; and then they came to where the canyon made an abrupt turn, and, widening out a little, ran straight ahead for half a mile or more.

The moment they made this turn and looked up the clear stretch of canyon, all uttered a shout of triumph. Some two hundred yards from them and near the east wall of the canyon grew a huge oak tree; and, perhaps a hundred yards farther up the canyon, stood a tall pillar of white rock.

"The Big Tree!" yelled Thure exultingly, starting on the run for the tree.

"Lot's Wife!" shouted Bud, racing along after Thure.

Rex and Dill and Dickson hastened after the excited boys; and, in a few minutes, all stood beneath the giant branches of the great oak.

The tree was some seventy-five feet high and nearly as broad as it was high; and its huge trunk grew so close to the wall of the canyon that the ends of its great limbs on that side had been pressed tight up against the rocks.

"Well, we are here at last!" Thure's face was flushed and his eyes were sparkling with excitement. "Now, for the hidden entrance to Crooked Arm Gulch!" and his eyes turned eagerly to the walls of the canyon.

The wall of the canyon near the tree, so far as their eyes could judge, was a solid mass of cracked and seamed rocks, that sprang from the bottom of the canyon almost straight upward for five hundred or more feet. There did not appear to be break or opening of any kind, nor did it look as if there ever had been such an opening.

For half an hour the two boys and Rex and Dill and Mr. Dickson searched excitedly up and down the wall of the canyon near the tree, without one of them finding the first sign of an entrance to the hidden gulch.

"Great Moses, but this is exasperating!" complained Thure, staring indignantly at the blank walls of rock. "To be held up like this, when almost at the entrance to the Cave of Gold! But we have got to find it," and the heat of his excitement having cooled down a little, he began a more careful and systematic search of the face of the wall of rock.

"Found it?" yelled Ham, who at this moment came round the turn in the canyon at the head of the remainder of the company.

"No," Dickson called back. "Not a sign of an opening anywhere in sight."

"I reckon this is where our trouble begins," Ham declared a few minutes later, when he stood near the Big Tree and searched the precipitous side of the wall of rock vainly with his keen eyes. "It shore don't look as if there ever had ben any gulch entrance thar."

"Let us have another look at the map," suggested Mr. Conroyal, after all had searched the face of the wall of rock in vain for some time. "Possibly we have overlooked some little point of guidance on it."

Thure at once procured the map and handed it to his father; and all crowded anxiously around him, as he seated himself on a rock and spread the map out on his knees.

"This sure must be the right place," he declared, as he glanced down at the map and then up and down the canyon; "for here is the Big Tree and there," and he pointed to the white pillar, "is Lot's Wife, and that slide down there must surely have been the Devil's Slide; and, if this is the right place, then the entrance to Crooked Arm Gulch must be right there, according to this map," and he pointed to the wall of rock against which the great limbs of the tree were pressing.

"Wai, it ain't thar," and Ham turned away disgustedly from the map. "Any fool with eyes in his head can see that it ain't thar. I reckon we've come on a wild-goose chase. Let's go intew camp an' git some grub down us. I'm allfired hungry, an' it's tew late tew look any more tew-day," and he glanced toward the west wall of the canyon, up the side of which the shadows of night were already beginning to creep. "Possibly we can dew better in th' mornin', though it's more'n I can see how, seem' that thar's nuthin' but th' face of a solid wall of rock tew search; an' we've searched 'bout every inch of that that we can a'ready," and he threw his big frame down on the ground and stared at the wall of rock wrathfully.

And much of the same disappointment and disgust that troubled Ham was troubling the hearts of all; for it did not seem possible that there could be any entrance to any gulch anywhere near the Big Tree. The wall of rock was too steep to climb, but the eye could search its entire face, except where the limbs of the giant oak hid a few square yards of the surface, and nowhere was there a break in the wall nor the least sign of an opening of any sort, let alone the entrance to a gulch. This was so plainly evident, so easily and so quickly to be seen, for the smooth face of the wall of a canyon offers few opportunities of concealment, that the gloom of bitter disappointment deadened the spirits of all; and, consequently, it was a very downhearted and discouraged company of men that now started to make ready for the night under the overhanging branches of the Big Tree.

All the next day the search was continued, but without any results.

"Durn th' old map! Let's throw it intew th' fire an' git back tew th' diggin's," Ham declared wrathfully, as they gathered for the night under the Big Tree. "Stackpole shore must have been loony when he made that map."

"Reckon you are right," agreed Mr. Conroyal. "Well, we'll have another look at the map; and, if we can't get any new ideas from it, we will do as you say and start back for the diggings in the morning."

"No; no! Just one more day! Let us look one more day!" pleaded Thure. "I can't believe that Stackpole did not find that Cave of Gold. He was so sure of it, so earnest about it—and there is the nugget and the gold he had with him when murdered! Let us look just one more day!"

"Well, son, I am sure that we all are just as anxious to find that Cave of Gold as you can possibly be; but, where can we look that we have not already looked? What is the use of going over exactly the same ground that we have already been over many times? It isn't a question of sticking. I'd say stick as long as there was any hope. But, as Ham says, any fool with eyes in his head can see that there is no gulch opening here. Either Stackpole was crazy, or we've struck the wrong canyon; and, in either case, we might just as well give up the search and get back where we know there is gold. However, I will put the matter to a vote; and we will do as the majority wishes. Shall we start back for the diggings in the morning? All in favor of starting back in the morning stand up," and Mr. Conroyal's eyes glanced over the little company seated around him.

All arose slowly to their feet, except Thure and Bud, who looked almost ready to cry at this untimely ending of all their romantic dreams.

"I know it is hard, hard on us all, and especially hard on you two boys," Mr. Conroyal said, turning sympathetically to the lads. "But it would be foolish to waste any more time here. Now, let us have a last look at that map, before we fling the cussed thing into the fire," and he motioned Thure to hand him the skin map. "We don't want it to fool anybody else."

Thure slowly took the map from its place of concealment in his shirt bosom and reluctantly handed it to his father. Then all bent their heads over it; but there was little interest in their faces. They had examined the map too often and too closely to hope to find anything new in it now.

Suddenly Mrs. Dickson uttered a little exclamation and pointed with her finger to the roughly drawn tree in the left hand corner of the map.

"I wonder if that tree, with the arrow pointing downward toward the east point of the cross, does not mean something," she said.

"Moses!" yelled Thure, jumping to his feet excitedly. "It does! It's the key to the whole secret! I remember now! The miner said the gulch was blocked by great rocks, that we must climb the Big Tree to the third limb. You remember, don't you, Bud?" and he turned excitedly to Bud.

"Yes," answered Bud, now as greatly excited as was Thure himself. "He said, 'Climb to the third limb. Remember, climb to the third limb—third—third—' and then he choked all up. Come! It is yet light enough to see!" and both boys made a jump for the huge trunk of the great oak tree and began climbing up it almost with the agility of two squirrels.

"Gosh! Thar might be somethin' in that!" and Ham, and all the others, jumped to their feet and followed the movements of the two boys with deeply interested eyes.

The third limb was about twenty feet from the ground, of huge size and thrust itself straight out to the rocky wall of the canyon, against which its end appeared to be tightly pressed.

Along this limb Thure and Bud now scrambled, as swiftly as hands and feet and body could propel them, Thure in the lead. The limb was sufficiently large and strong to make this neither difficult nor dangerous. In a few minutes they were at the face of the wall of rock. Here Thure paused for a moment, then he was seen to rise on his feet, push a few branches aside, and, with a yell, disappear. The next moment he was followed by Bud.

"Wal, I'll be teetotally durned!" and Ham and the others stared blankly at the spot where the two boys had disappeared.

For five minutes they stood staring at the spot, without speaking a word, so intense was their interest. Then the heads of the two boys appeared through the branches almost simultaneously; and a loud yell of triumph broke wildly from the mouth of each.

"Found! Found!" yelled Thure.

"We've found the gulch! Crooked Arm Gulch!" cried Bud. "Come up and see."

"Durned if I don't!" and Ham leaped for the trunk of the tree, followed by every other man in the company, except Pedro, who, together with Mrs. Dickson, remained below.

"Not too many on the limb at a time," cautioned Rex, who had succeeded in reaching the third limb first. "It might break," and he began working his way along it, closely followed by Dill.

In a couple of minutes he had reached the opening in the wall of rock, a jagged hole some four or five feet in diameter, into which the sturdy limb had thrust itself in such a manner that its branches completely concealed all signs of the opening from below.

"Great! This is great!" Rex exclaimed, as he pushed his way through the branches into the hole.

In a few minutes more all were through the hole, and were standing on a narrow shelf of rock, looking down into a deep, narrow gulch, whose bottom was considerably below the level of the bottom of Lot's Canyon.

"By gum! if we ain't struck th' right spot at last!" and Ham stared in astonishment up the gulch to where it made a bend, like a crook at the elbow in a man's bent arm. "Thar's th' Golden Elbow," and he pointed to the bend; "an' this shore must be Crooked Arm Gulch. Wal, this is what I call luck! Hurra!" and he swung his hat around his head and yelled at the very top of his strong lungs; and every man there joined with him in the yell; and the rocky walls of the narrow gulch echoed and reechoed the sound, until it seemed as if a hundred men were shouting their joyous yells of triumph.

"Too bad it is so late in the day that we must put off exploring the gulch until to-morrow," Mr. Conroyal lamented, when the excitement had somewhat quieted down.

"Oh, dad, just let us see if the cave is really there!" begged Thure.

"Impossible. See how swiftly the dark shadows of night are gathering. We must hasten back to Lot's Canyon at once. In fifteen minutes it will be too dark to see our way plainly. Come on, everybody. I reckon the Little Woman is some curious to know what has been happening up here," and, smiling happily, he started back toward the opening, followed by all the others.

When they again reached the ground at the bottom of the Big Tree, they found Mrs. Dickson alone. She said that Pedro had asked permission to go back to where the grizzly bear had been filled to get a chunk of bear steak for their supper, and had hurried off, taking one of their rifles with him, as soon as she had said yes. She was nearly wild with joy, when told of the find they had made, and vowed that she would go with them in the morning, when they started out to look for the Cave of Gold, in spite of the seemingly dangerous climb along the big limb of the Big Tree.

Half an hour later Pedro returned with a big chunk of bear meat, which was soon roasting on wooden spits placed around the blazing camp-fire.

That was as joyful an evening as the night before had been gloomy. Even the saturnine spirits of Pedro seemed greatly affected by the general hilarity; for his sallow face was all smiles and his little black eyes snapped and twinkled, as he passed hither and thither among the men, and he was very careful to place the pan in which he washed the dishes within easy hearing distance of every word they might utter. Indeed, it seemed almost impossible for him to tear himself away from the sound of their voices; and, when he was compelled to go to the little spring they had discovered some twenty rods distant from the Big Tree, after water, he had gone there and back on the run, as if he was fearful that something might be said while he was away that he ought to hear. But, to all this, our friends gave no heed, save that Ham once or twice turned his eyes on Pedro's excited face, with just a flicker of suspicion in them.

"Wal, I don't wonder he's some excited, seein' us so upset," he thought. "Still thar won't be no harm in keepin' as much as possible from him. I don't believe in trustin' a Mexican nohow, any more than you've got tew," and Ham lowered his own voice and cautioned the others to do likewise, when Pedro was near. "Jest tew be on the safe side," he explained.

"We must de doubly cautious now," warned Mr. Conroyal, when they made ready for bed, "and keep somebody on guard night and day all the time; for now that we have found the secret of Crooked Arm Gulch them devils are likely to be down upon us at the first unguarded moment. We will put four men on guard again to-night. Rex, you and Dill and Bud and his father can stand guard for the first half of the night; and you can call Ham and Frank and Thure and me to relieve you about one o'clock. Now, get to your stations and we will get to our blankets. Good night, everybody," and he began rolling himself up in his blanket.

An example that all except the guards followed very speedily.



CHAPTER XXV

THE CAVE OF GOLD

There were no disturbances during the night; and the dawn of the next morning found everybody up and awaiting eagerly the moment when there would be sufficient light in the canyon to make the climbing of the Big Tree and the entrance into Crooked Arm Gulch safe. At last Mr. Conroyal declared that the great moment had come.

"But," and he glanced around the little group of eager faces, "Ham and I think, and I am sure you will all agree with us when you stop to consider the matter, that we ought to leave at least one man here to stand guard with Pedro. Now, under the circumstances, I had rather not say who that man shall be, but will ask for a volunteer. Who is willing to offer himself up as a sacrifice to the good of the public?" and Mr. Conroyal smiled.