isitor.

"Look here now, Westly," said Gashford, in a low suppressed voice,
shutting the curtain of the tent and drawing a revolver from his pocket,
"you know something about this matter, and you know _me_. If you don't
tell me all you know and where your chum has bolted to, I'll blow your
brains out as sure as there's a God in heaven."

"I thought," said Westly, quietly, and without the slightest symptom of
alarm, "you held the opinion that there is no God and no heaven."

"Come, young fellow, none o' your religious chaff, but answer my
question."

"Nothing is farther from my thoughts than chaffing you," returned
Westly, gently, "and if the mere mention of God's name is religion, then
you may claim to be one of the most religious men at the diggings, for
you are constantly praying Him to curse people. I have already answered
your question, and can only repeat that I _don't know_ where my friend
Brixton has gone to. But let me ask, in turn, what has happened to
_you_?"

There was no resisting the earnest sincerity of Fred's look and tone, to
say nothing of his cool courage. Gashford felt somewhat abashed in
spite of himself.

"What has happened to me?" he repeated, bitterly. "The worst that could
happen has happened. My gold has been stolen, and your chum is the man
who has cribbed it. I know that as well as if I had seen him do it.
But I'll hunt him down and have it out of him with interest; with
interest, mark you--if I should have to go to the ends o' the 'arth to
find him."

Without another word Gashford thrust the revolver into his pocket, flung
aside the tent curtain, and strode away.

Meanwhile Tom Brixton, with the gold in a game-bag slung across his
shoulder, was speeding down the valley, or mountain gorge, at the head
of which the Pine Tree Diggings lay, with all the vigour and activity of
youthful strength, but with none of the exultation that might be
supposed to characterise a successful thief. On the contrary, a weight
like lead seemed to lie on his heart, and the faces of his mother and
his friend, Fred Westly, seemed to flit before him continually, gazing
at him with sorrowful expression. As the fumes of the liquor which he
had drunk began to dissipate, the shame and depression of spirit
increased, and his strength, great though it was, began to give way.

By that time, however, he had placed many a mile between him and the
camp where he had committed the robbery. The valley opened i