"There's nothing in the dream, of course, but the fact that the professor figured in it proves you were fretting a little on his account yourself." "Well, it was like this," returned Ballard, glad that the opportunity had finally come to relieve his mind.

"I seemed to be back in that pile of ruins that used to be Happenchance, the played-out mining camp.

From that claim of the professor's stretched a row of nuggets, clear from the Picket Post Mountains to Gold Hill.

They were big nuggets, too, running all the way from one the size of my hat to a whole lot as big as a washtub--" "Whew!" grinned Clancy.

"Go on, Pink; don't mind me." "The nuggets," proceeded Ballard, frowning at Clancy, "were arranged like stepping-stones--one here, another a few feet beyond, and another beyond that, and so on." "Regular golden trail," laughed Clancy.