but silent greeting that was half new to him, but wholly delicious.  It was not without difficulty that he could at last prevail upon them to return with him to the scene of his discovery, or even then restrain them from attempting to carry him thither on their shoulders on the plea of his previous prolonged exertions.  Once only there was a momentary embarrassment.  “Then you fired that shot to bring me back?” said the Old Man, gratefully.  In the awkward silence that followed, the hands of the two brothers sought and grasped each other, penitently.  “Yes,” interposed the Judge, with delicate tact, “ye see the Right and Left Bower almost quarreled to see which should be the first to fire for ye.  I disremember which did”—­“I never touched the trigger,” said the Left Bower, hastily.  With a hurried backward kick, the Judge resumed, “It went off sorter spontaneous.”

The difference in the sentiment of the procession that once more issued from the Lone Star cabin did not fail to show itself in each individual partner according to his temperament.  The subtle tact of Union Mills, however, in expressing an awakened respect for their fortunate partner by addressing him, as if unconsciously, as “Mr. Ford” was at first discomposing, but even this was forgotten in their breathless excitement as they neared the base of the mountain.  When they had crossed the creek the Right Bower stopped reflectively.

“You say you heard the slide come down before you left the cabin?” he said, turning to the Old Man.

“Yes; but I did not know then what it was.  It was about an hour and a half after you left,” was the reply.

“Then look here, boys,” continued the Right Bower with superstitious exultation; “it was the slide that tumbled into the creek, overflowed it, and helped us clear out the race!”

It seemed so clear that Providence had taken the partners of the Lone Star directly in hand that they faced the toilsome ascent of the mountain with the assurance of conquerors.  They paused only on the summit to allow the Old Man to lead the way to the slope that held their treasure.  He advanced cautiously to the edge of the crumbling cliff, stopped, looked bewildered, advanced again, and then remained white and immovable.  In an instant the Right Bower was at his side.

“Is anything the matter?  Don’t—­don’t look so, Old Man, for God’s sake!”

The Old Man pointed to the dull, smooth, black side of the mountain, without a crag, break, or protuberance, and said with ashen lips:—­

“It’s gone!”

*****

And it was gone!  A second slide had taken place, stripping the flank of the mountain, and burying the treasure and the weak implement that had marked its side deep under a chaos of rock and debris at its base.

“Thank God!” The blank faces of his companions turned quickly to the Right Bower.  “Thank God!” he repeated, with his arm round the neck of the Old Man.  “Had he stayed behind he would have been buried too.”  He paused, and, pointing solemnly to the depths below, said, “And thank God for showing us where we may yet labor for it in hope and patience like honest men.”