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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When?”

“How?”

“Who did it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All the others were now crowding excitedly around the table; and Mr. Conroyal quickly picked up the piece of paper and held it up to the candlelight.

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

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

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

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

“Wal, I reckon, that argyment settles it,” grinned Ham.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes! Yes!” exclaimed both Mr. and Mrs. Dickson eagerly.

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

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

“John Stackpole, the map says,” answered Mr. Conroyal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what the dying miner said,” broke in Bud eagerly.

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

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

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

“Let’s first see if the string is really there,” proposed Thure.

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

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

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

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

If you want the map, come and get it. There are nine men and one
woman, worth any two men, who will be glad to welcome you.

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

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

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

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

“I reckon they’re readin’ it,” grinned Ham. “Wonder how they like it?”

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

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

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

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

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