Then Harry turned.
"'Ave you looked at the mine ?" The question brought back to Fairchild the happenings of the morning and the memory of the man who had trailed him.

He told his story, while Mother Howard listened, her arms crossed, her head bobbing, and while Harry, his big grin still on his lips, took in the details with avidity.

Then for a moment a monstrous hand scrambled vaguely about in the region of the Cornishman's face, grasping a hair of that radiating mustache now and then and pulling hard at it, at last to drop,--and the grin faded.
"Le 's go up there," he said quietly.
This time the trip to Kentucky gulch was made by skirting town; soon they were on the rough, narrow roadway leading into the mountains.
Both were silent for the most part, and the expression on Harry's face told that he was living again the days of the past, days when men were making those pock-marks in the hills, when the prospector and his pack jack could be seen on every trail, and when float ore in a gulley meant riches waiting somewhere above.

A long time they walked, at last to stop in the shelter of the rocks where Fairchild had shadowed his pursuer, and to glance carefully ahead.

No one was in sight.