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Wrapping his feet in old rags in order to disguise his foot-prints, he had taken the sacks of ore across the gulch to the stony ground beyond, where his boots would leave no impression, and there all trace of him was lost. Whether he had buried the sacks somewhere near by, or, if not, how he had managed to spirit them away, were matters of general speculation; though to most minds the question was settled when one of Yetmore’s clerks came hastily up to the mine and called out that the roan pony and the two-wheeled delivery cart, used to carry packages up to the mines, were missing. The thief, seemingly, had not only stolen Yetmore’s ore, but had borrowed Yetmore’s horse and cart to convey it away.

If this were true, it proved that the thief must have an intimate knowledge of the country, for, in spite of the heavy rain of the night before, not a sign of a wheel-mark was there to be found: the cart had been conducted over the rocks with such skill as to leave no trace whatever. Cart, pony, ore and thief had vanished as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed them.

At first everybody sympathized with Yetmore over his loss, but presently an ugly rumor began to get about when people bethought them of the terms of the lease. Those who did not like the storekeeper, and they were not a few, began to pull long faces, nudge each other with their elbows, and whisper together that perhaps Yetmore knew more of this matter than he pretended.

Joe and I were at a loss to understand what they were driving at, until one man, more malicious or less discreet than the others, spoke up.

“How are we to know,”said he, “that Yetmore didn’t steal this ore himself? Three-fifths of it belongs to the company – he’d make a mighty good thing by it. I’m not saying he did do it, but – ”

He ended with a closing of one eye and a sideways jerk of his head more expressive than words.

“Oh, that’s ridiculous!”Joe blurted out. “Yetmore isn’t over-scrupulous, I dare say, but he’s a long way from being a fool, and he’d never make such a blunder as to steal the ore and then use his own horse and cart to carry it off.”

“Well, I don’t know,”said the man. “It might be just a trick of his to put folks off the scent.”

And though Joe and I, for our part, felt sure that Yetmore had had nothing to do with it, we found that many people shared this man’s suspicions; the consequence being that the mayor’s popularity of the day before waned again as suddenly as it had arisen.

In the midst of this excitement the mail-coach from the south came in, when Joe and I, carrying with us the expected letter for my father, set off home again; little suspecting – as how should we suspect – that the ore-thief, whoever he might be, was about to render us a service of greater value by far than the ore and the cart and the pony combined.

We were jogging along on the homeward road, and were just rounding the spur of Elkhorn Mountain which divided our valley from Sulphide, when Joe suddenly laid his hand on my arm and cried: “Pull up, Phil. Stop a minute.”

“What’s the matter?”I asked.

“Get down and come back a few steps,”Joe answered; and on my joining him, he pointed out to me in a sandy patch at the mouth of a steep draw coming in from the left, some deeply-indented wheel-marks.

“Well, what of that, Joe?”said I, laughing. “Are you thinking you’ve found the trail of the ore-thief?”

“No,”Joe replied, “I’m not jumping at any such conclusion; but, at the same time, it’s possible. If the ore-thief started northward from the Pelican, and the chances are he did, for we know he carried the sacks across to the north side of Stony Gulch, this would be the natural place for him to come down into the road; for it is plain to any one that he could never get a loaded cart – or an empty one either, for that matter – over the rocky ridge which crowns this spur. If he was making his way north, he had to get into the road sooner or later, and this gully was his last chance to come down.”

“That’s true,”I assented; “and this cart – it’s a two-wheeler, you see – was heavily loaded. Look how it cuts into the sand.”

“Yes,”said Joe; “and it was drawn by one smallish horse, led by a man; a big man, too: look at his tracks.”

“But the ore-thief, Joe, had his feet wrapped up in rags, and these are the marks of a number twelve boot.”

“Well, you don’t suppose the thief would walk over this rough mountain with his feet wrapped up in rags, do you? In the dark, too. They’d be catching against everything. No; he would take off the rags as soon as he reached hard ground and throw them into the cart; for it is not to be expected either that he would leave them lying on his trail to show people which way he had gone.”

“No, of course not. But which way did he go, Joe; across the road or down it?”

“Down it. See. The wheel-tracks bear to the left. And if you want evidence that he came down in the dark, here you are. Look how one wheel skidded over this half-buried, water-worn boulder and slid off and scraped the spokes against this projecting rock. Look at the blue paint it left on the rock.”

“Blue paint!”I cried. “Joe, Yetmore’s cart was painted blue! I remember it very well. A very strongly-built cart, as it had to be to scramble up those rough roads that lead to the mines, painted blue with black trimmings. Joe, I begin to believe this is the ore-thief, after all.”

“It does look like it. But where was he going? Not down to the smelter at San Remo, surely.”

“Not he,”I replied. “He would know better than that. The smelter has undoubtedly been notified of the robbery by this time, and the character of the Pelican tellurium is so well known that any one offering any of it for sale would have to give a very clear story as to how he came by it. No; this fellow will have to hide or bury the ore and leave it lying till he thinks the robbery is forgotten; and even then he will probably have to dispose of it at a distance in small lots or broken up very fine and mixed with other ore.”

“In that case,”said Joe, “we shall find his trail leaving the road again on one side or the other.”

“I expect so. We’ll keep a lookout. But come on, now, Joe: we mustn’t delay any longer.”

The road had been traveled over by several vehicles since last night, and the trail of the cart was undistinguishable with any certainty until we had passed the point where the highway branched off to the right to go down to San Remo; after which it appeared again, apparently headed straight for the ranch.

“Do you suppose he can have crossed our valley, Phil?”asked my companion.

“No, I expect not,”I replied. “Keep your eyes open; we shall find the tracks going off to one side or the other pretty soon – to the left most likely, for the best hiding-places would be up in the mountains.”

Sure enough, after traversing a bare, rocky stretch of road, we found that the tracks no longer showed ahead of us. The man had taken advantage of the hard ground to turn off. Pulling up our ponies, we both jumped to the ground once more, and going back a short distance, we made a cast on the western side of the road. In a few minutes Joe called out:

“Here we are, Phil! See! The wheel touched the edge of this little sandy spot, and if you look ahead about forty yards you’ll see where it ran over an ant-hill. It seems as though he were heading for our cañon. Do you think that’s likely?”

“Yes,”I replied. “I think it is very likely. There is one place where he can get down, you remember, and then, by following up the bed of the stream for a short distance he will come to a draw which will lead him to the top of the Second Mesa – just the place he would make for. For, to any one knowing the country, as he evidently does, there would be a thousand good hiding-places in which to stow away ten small sacks of ore – you might search for years and not find them.”

“Yes,”said Joe. “But there’s the horse and cart, Phil. How will he dispose of them?”

“Oh, that will be easy enough. He would tumble the cart into some cañon, perhaps, turn loose the horse, and be back in Sulphide before morning. But come on, Joe. We really mustn’t waste any more time; it’s getting on for six now.”

It was fortunate we did not delay any longer, for we found my father anxiously pacing up and down the room, wondering what was keeping us. Without heeding our explanation at the moment, he hastily tore open the letter we had brought, read it through, and then stepping to the foot of the stairs, called out:

“Get your things on, mother. We must start at once. The train leaves at seven forty-five. There’s no time to lose.”

Turning to us, he went on: “Boys, I have to go to Denver. I may be gone five or six days – can’t tell how long. I leave you in charge. If you can get at the plowing, go ahead; but I’m afraid you won’t have the chance. If I’m not mistaken, there’s another rain coming – wettest season I remember. Joe, run out and hitch up the big bay to the buckboard. Phil, you will have to drive down to San Remo with us and bring back the rig. Go in and get some supper now; it’s all ready on the table.”

In ten minutes we were off, I sitting on a little trunk at the back of the carriage, explaining to my father over his shoulder as we drove along the events of the last two days, and how it was we had taken so much time coming down from Sulphide.

“It certainly does look as though the thief had come down this way,” said he; “and though we are not personally concerned in the matter, I think one of you ought to ride up to Sulphide again on Monday and give your information. Hunt up Tom Connor and tell him. And I believe” – he paused to consider – “yes, I believe I would tell Yetmore, too. I’m sure he is not concerned in this robbery; and I’m even more sure that if he was a party to the blowing up of that house, he never intended any harm to you. Yes, I think I’d tell Yetmore. It will prove to him that we bear him no ill-will, and may have a good effect.”

Having seen them off on the train, I turned homeward again, going slowly, for the clouds were low and it was very dark. The consequence was that it was nearly ten by the time I reached the ranch, and before I did so the rain was coming down hard once more.

“Wet night, Joe,”said I, as I pulled off my overcoat. “No plowing for a week, I’m afraid.”

“I expect not,”replied my companion. “It isn’t often we have to complain of too much rain in Colorado, but we are certainly getting an over supply just now. There’s one man, though, who’ll be glad of it.”

“Who’s that?”

“That ore-thief. It will wash out his tracks completely.”

CHAPTER XIV
The Snow-Slide

The rain, which continued pretty steadily all day, Sunday, had ceased before the following morning, when, looking through the rifts in the clouds to the west we could see that a quantity of new snow had fallen on the mountains.

“There’ll be no trouble about water for irrigating this year, Joe,”said I, as I returned from the stable after feeding the horses. “There’s more snow up there, I believe, than I’ve ever seen before. It ought to last well into the summer, especially as the winds have drifted the gulches full and it has settled into solid masses.”

“Yes, there ought to be a good supply,”answered Joe, who was busy cooking the breakfast. “Which of the ponies do you think I had better take this morning, Phil? The pinto?”

“I thought so. I’ve given him a good feed of oats. He’ll enjoy the outing, I expect, for he’s feeling pretty chipper this morning. He tried to nip me in the ribs while I was rubbing him down. He needs a little exercise.”

We had arranged between us that Joe should ride to Sulphide that morning to see Tom Connor and Yetmore, as my father had directed; and accordingly, as soon as he could get off, away he went; the pinto pony, very fresh and lively, going off as though he intended to gallop the whole distance.

Left to myself, I first went up to measure the flow of the underground stream, according to custom, and then, taking a shovel, I went to work clearing the headgates of our ditches, which had become more or less encumbered with refuse during the winter. There were two of them, set in niches of the rock on either side of the pool; for, to irrigate the land on both sides of the creek, we necessarily had to have two ditches. I had been at it only a few minutes when I noticed a curious booming noise in the direction of the mountains, which, continuing for a minute or two, presently died out again. From my position close under the wall of the Second Mesa, I could see nothing, and though it seemed to me to be a peculiar and unusual sound, I concluded that it was only a storm getting up; for, even at a distance of seven miles, we could often hear the roaring of the wind in the pine-trees.

A quarter of an hour later, happening to look up the Sulphide road, I was rather surprised to see a horseman coming down, riding very fast. He was about a mile away when I first caught sight of him, and I could not make out who he was, but presently, as I stood watching, a slight bend in the road allowed the sunlight to fall upon the horse’s side, when I recognized the pinto. It was Joe coming home again.

I knew very well, of course, that he could not have been all the way to Sulphide and back in so short a time, and my first thought was that the spirited pony was running away with him; but as he approached I saw that Joe was leaning forward in the saddle, rather urging forward his steed than restraining him.

“What’s up?”I thought to myself, as I stood leaning on my shovel. “Has he forgotten something? He seems to be in a desperate hurry if he has: Joe doesn’t often push his horse like that. Something the matter, I’m afraid.”

There was a rather steep pitch where the road came down into our valley, and it was a regular practice with us to descend this hill with some caution. Here, at any rate, I expected Joe to slacken his pace; but when I saw him come flying down at full gallop, where a false step by the pony would endanger both their necks, I knew there was something the matter, and flinging down my shovel, I ran to meet him.

“What is it, Joe?”I cried, as soon as he came within hearing.

Pulling in his pony, which, poor beast, stood trembling, with hanging head and legs astraddle, the breath coming in blasts from its scarlet nostrils, Joe leaped to the ground, crying:

“A snow-slide! A fearful great snow-slide! Right down on Peter’s house!”

For a moment we stood gazing at each other in silence, when Joe, speaking very rapidly, went on:

“We must get up there at once, Phil: we may be able to help Peter. Though if he was in his house when the slide came down, I’m afraid we can do nothing. His cabin must be buried five hundred feet deep, and the heavy snow will pack like ice with its own weight.”

“We’ll take a couple of shovels, anyhow,”I cried. “I’ll get ’em. Pull your saddle off the pinto, Joe, he’s used up, poor fellow, and slap it on to the little gray. Saddle my pony, too, will you? I’ll clap some provisions into a bag and bring ’em along: there’s no knowing how long we’ll be gone!”

“All right,”replied Joe. And without more words, he turned to unsaddle the still panting pony, while I ran to the house.

In five minutes, or less, we were under way.

“Not too fast!”cried Joe. “We mustn’t blow the ponies at the start. It’s a good eight miles up to Peter’s house.”

As we ascended the hill and came up on top of the Second Mesa, I was able to see for the first time the great scar on the mountain where the slide had come down.

“Phew!”I whistled. “It was a big one, and no mistake. Did you see it start, Joe?”

“Yes, I saw it start. I happened to be looking up there, thinking it looked pretty dangerous, when a great mass of snow which was overhanging that little cliff up there near the saddle, fell and started the whole thing. It seemed to begin slowly. I could see three or four big patches of snow fall from the precipice above Peter’s cabin as though pushed over, and then the whole great mass, fifteen feet thick, I should think, three hundred yards wide and four or five times as long, came down with a rush, pouring over the cliff with a roar like thunder. I wonder you didn’t hear it.”

“I did,”I replied, remembering the noise I had taken for a wind-storm, “but being under the bluff, and the waterfall making so much noise, I couldn’t hear distinctly, and so thought nothing of it. Why!”I cried, as I looked again. “There used to be a belt of trees running diagonally across the slope. They’re all gone!”

“Yes, every one of them. There were some biggish ones, too, you remember; but the slide snapped them off like so many carrots. It cut a clean swath right through them, as you see.”

“Where were you, Joe, when you saw it come down?”I asked.

“More than half way to Sulphide. I came back in fifteen minutes – four miles.”

“Poor little Pinto! No wonder he was used up!”

We had been riding at a smart lope, side by side, while this conversation was going on, and in due time we reached the foot-hills. Here our pace was necessarily much reduced, but we continued on up Peter’s creek as rapidly as possible until the gulch became so narrow and rocky, and so encumbered with great patches of snow, that we thought we could make better time on foot.

Leaving our ponies, therefore, we went scrambling forward, until, about half a mile from our destination, Joe suddenly stopped, and holding up his hand, cried eagerly:

“Hark! Keep quiet! Listen!”

“Bow, wow, wow! Bow, wow, wow, wow, wow!”came faintly to our ears from far up the mountain.

“It’s old Sox!”cried Joe. “There are no dogs up here!”And clapping his hands on either side of his mouth, he gave a yell which made the echoes ring. Almost immediately the sharp report of a rifle came down to us, and with a spontaneous cheer we plunged forward once more.

It was hard work, for we were about nine thousand feet above sea level; the further we advanced, too, the more snow we encountered, until presently we found the narrow valley so blocked with it that we had to ascend the mountain-spur on one side to get around it. In doing so, we came in sight of the cliff behind Peter’s house, and then, for the first time, we understood what a snow-slide really meant.

Reaching half way up the thousand-foot precipice was a great slope of snow, completely filling the end of the valley; and projecting from it at all sorts of angles were trees, big and little, some whole, some broken off short, some standing erect as though growing there, some showing nothing but their roots. At the same time, from the edge of the precipice upward to the summit of the ridge, we had a clear view of the long, bare track left by the slide, with the snow-banks, fifteen or twenty feet thick, still standing on either side of it, held back by the trees.

“What a tremendous mass of snow!”I exclaimed, “There must be ten million tons of it! And what an irresistible power! Peter’s house must have been crushed like an eggshell!”

“Yes,”replied Joe. “But meanwhile where’s Peter?”

Once more he shouted; and this time, somewhere straight ahead of us, there was an answering shout which set us hurrying forward again with eager expectancy.

At the same moment, up from the ground flew old Sox, perched upon the root of an inverted tree, where, showing big and black against the snow bank behind him, he set to work to bark a continuous welcome as we struggled forward to the spot, one behind the other.

Beneath a tree, stretched on a mat of fallen pine-needles, just on the very outer edge of the slide, lay our old friend, the hermit, who, when he saw us approaching, raised himself on his elbow, and waving his other hand to us, called out cheerily:

“How are you, boys? Glad to see you! You’re welcome – more than welcome!”

“Hurt, Peter?”cried Joe, running forward and throwing himself upon his knees beside the injured man.

“A trifle. No bones broken, I believe, but pretty badly bruised and strained, especially the right leg above the knee. I find I can’t walk – at least not just yet.”

“How did you escape the slide?”I asked.

“Why, I had warning of it, luckily. I was up pretty early this morning and was just about to leave the house, when a dab of snow – a couple of tons, maybe – came down and knocked off my chimney. I knew what that meant, and I didn’t waste much time, you may be sure, in getting out. I grabbed my rifle and ran for it. I was hardly out of my door when the roar began, and you may guess how I ran then. I had reached almost this spot when down it came. The edge of it caught me and tumbled me about; sometimes on the surface, sometimes on the ground; now on my face and now feet uppermost, I was pitched this way and that like a cork in a torrent, till a big tree – the one Sox is sitting on, I think – slapped me on the back with its branches and hurled me twenty feet away among the rocks. It was then I got hurt; but on the other hand, being flung out of the snow like that saved me from being buried, so I can’t complain. It was as narrow a shave as one could well have.”

“It certainly was,”said I. “And did you hold on to the rifle all the time?”

“Yes; though why, I can’t say. The natural instinct to hold on to something, I suppose. But how is it you are on hand so promptly? It did occur to me as I lay here that one of you might notice that there had been a slide and remember me, but I never expected to see you here so soon.”

“Well, that was another piece of good fortune,”I replied. “Joe saw the slide come down and rode a four-mile race to come and tell me. We did not lose a minute in getting under way, and we haven’t wasted any time in getting here either. But now we are here, the question is: How are we going to get you out?”

“Where do you propose to take me?”asked Peter.

“Down to our house.”

For a brief instant the hermit looked as though he were going to demur; but if he had entertained such an idea, he thought better of it, and thanked me instead.

“It’s very good of you,”said he; “though it gives me an odd sensation. I haven’t been inside another man’s house for years.”

“Well, don’t you think it’s high time you changed your habits?”ask Joe, laughing. “And you couldn’t have a better opportunity – your own house smashed flat; yourself helpless; and we two all prepared to lug you off whether you like it or not.”

“Well,”said Peter, smiling at Joe’s threat, “then I suppose I may as well give in. You’re very kind, though, boys,”he added, seriously, “and I’m very glad indeed to accept your offer.”

“Then let us pitch in at once and start downward,”said Joe. “Do you think you could walk with help?”

“I doubt it; but I’ll have a try.”

It was no use, though. With one arm over Joe’s shoulder and the other over mine he essayed to walk, but the attempt was a failure. His right leg dragged helplessly behind; he could not take a step.

“We’ve got to think of some other way,”said Joe, as Peter once more stretched himself at full length upon the ground. “Can we – ”

But here he was interrupted.

All this time, Sox, with rare backwardness, had remained perched upon his tree-root, looking on and listening, but at this moment down he flew, alighted upon the ground near Peter’s head, made a complete circuit of his master’s prostrate form, then hopped up on his shoulder, and having promenaded the whole length of his body from his neck to his toes, he shook out his feathers and settled himself comfortably upon the hermit’s left foot.

We all supposed he intended to take a nap, but in another two seconds he straightened up again, eyed each of us in turn, and, with an air of having thought it all out and at last decided the matter beyond dispute, he remarked in a tone of gentle resignation:

“John Brown’s body.”

Having delivered this well-considered opinion with becoming solemnity, he threw back his head and laughed a rollicking laugh, as though he had made the very best joke that ever was heard.

“You black heathen, Sox!”cried his master. “I believe you would laugh at a funeral.”

“Lies,”said Sox, opening one eye and shutting it again; a remark which, though it sounded very much as though intended as an insult to Peter, was presumably but the continuation of his previous quotation.

“Get out, you old rascal!”cried the hermit, “shooing”away the bird with his hat. “Your conversation is not desired just now.”And as Sox flew back to his perch, Peter continued: “How far down did you leave your ponies, boys?”

“About a mile,”I replied.

“Then I believe the best way will be for one of you to go down and bring up one of the ponies. I can probably get upon his back with your help, and then, by going carefully, I believe we can get down.”

“All right,”said Joe, springing to his feet. “We’ll try it. I’ll go down. The little gray is the one, Phil, don’t you think?”

“Yes,”I answered. “The little gray’s the one; he’s more sober-minded than my pony and very sure-footed. Bring the gray.”

Without further parley, away went Joe, and in about three-quarters of an hour he appeared again, leading the pony by the bridle.

“It’s pretty rough going,”said he, “but I think we can make it if we take it slowly. The pony came up very well. Now, Peter let’s see if we can hoist you into the saddle.”

It was a difficult piece of work, for Peter, though he had not an ounce of fat on his body, was a pretty heavy man, and being almost helpless himself, the feat was not accomplished without one or two involuntary groans on the part of the patient. At last, however, we had him settled into the saddle, when Joe, carrying the rifle, took the lead, while I, with the two shovels over my shoulder, brought up the rear. In this order the procession started, but it had no more than started when Peter called to us to stop.

In order to avoid going up the hill more than was necessary, we were skirting along the edge of the great snow-bank, when, as we passed just beneath the big tree upon one of whose roots Socrates was perched, Peter, looking up to call to the bird, espied something which at once attracted his attention.

“Wait a moment, boys, will you?”he requested, checking the pony; and then, turning to me, he continued: “Look up there, Phil. Do you see that black stone stuck among the roots? Poke it out with the shovel, will you? I should like to look at it.”

Wondering rather at his taking any interest in stones at such a time, I nevertheless obeyed his behest, and with two or three vigorous prods I dislodged the black fragment, catching it in my hand as it fell; though it was so unexpectedly heavy that I nearly let it drop.

“Ah!”exclaimed Peter, when I had handed it up to him. “Just what I thought! This will interest Tom Connor.”

“Why?”we both asked. “What is it?”

“A chunk of galena. Look! Do you see how it is made up of shining cubes of some black mineral? Lead – lead and sulphur. There’s a vein up there somewhere.”

“And the big tree, pushing its roots down into the vein, has brought away a piece of it, eh?”asked Joe.

“Yes, that is what I suppose. There are some bits of light-colored rock up there, too, Phil. Pry out one or two of those, will you?”

I did as requested, and on my passing them to Peter, he said:

“These are porphyry rocks. The general formation up there is limestone, I know – I’ve noticed it frequently – but I expect it is crossed somewhere – probably on the line of the belt of trees – by a porphyry dike. Put the specimens into your pocket, Joe; we must keep them to show to Connor. It’s a very important find. And now let us get along.”

The journey down the gulch was very slow and very difficult – we made hardly a mile an hour – though, when we left the mountain and started across the mesa we got along better. When about half way, I left the others and galloped home, where I lighted a fire and heated a lot of water, so that, when at length Peter arrived, I had a steaming hot tubful all ready for him in the spare room on the ground floor.

Though our friend protested against being treated like an invalid, declaring his belief that he would be about right again by morning, he nevertheless consented to take his hot bath and go to bed; though I think he was persuaded to do so more because he was unwilling to disappoint us after all our preparations, than because he really expected to derive any benefit.

Be that as it may – and for my part I shall always hold that it was the hot bath that did it – when we went into Peter’s room next morning, what was our surprise to find our cripple up and dressed. Though his right leg was still so stiff as to be of little use to him, he declined our help, and with the aid of a couple of broomsticks propelled himself out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, where Joe was busy getting the breakfast ready. His rapid recovery was astonishing to both of us; though, as Joe remarked later, we need not be so very much surprised, for, with his hardy life and abstemious habits he was as healthy as any wild animal.

As we sat at our morning meal, we talked over our find of yesterday, and discussed what was the proper course for us to pursue.

“First, and most important,”said Peter, “Tom Connor must be notified. We must waste no time. The prospectors are beginning to get out, and any one of them, noticing the new scar on the mountain, might go exploring up there. When does Tom quit work on the Pelican?”

“This evening,”replied Joe. “It was this evening, wasn’t it, Phil?”

“Yes,”I replied. “He was to quit at five this evening, and his intention then was to come down here next day and make this place his base of operations.”

“Then the thing to do,”said Joe, “is for me to ride up there this morning – I started to go yesterday, you know, Peter – and catch Tom up at the mine at noon. When he hears of our discovery, I’ve not a doubt but that he will pack up and come back with me this evening, so as to get a start first thing to-morrow.”

“I expect he will,”said I. “And while you are up there, Joe, you can see Yetmore and give him your information about those cart-tracks.”

“What do you mean?”asked Peter. “Information about what cart-tracks?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard of it, of course,”said I; and forthwith I explained to him all about the ore-theft, and how we suspected that the thief was in hiding somewhere in the foot-hills. Peter listened attentively, and then asked: