stances become. Even the indisputable four hundred pounds of
gold could not quite avert an unconfessed suspicion of the uncanny.
Miners are superstitious folk. Old Man Bright remembered the parting and
involved curses of his squaw before she went back to her acorns and pine
nuts. To Tibbetts alone he imparted a vague hint of the imaginings into
which he had fallen. But he brooded much, seeking a plausible theory
that would not force him back on the powers of darkness. This he did not
find.

Nor did any other man. It remained a mystery, a single bizarre anomaly
in the life of the camp. For some time thereafter the express went
heavily guarded. The road was patrolled. Jimmy or George Gaynes in
person accompanied each shipment of dust. Their pay streak held out,
increased steadily in value. They would hire no assistance for the
actual mining in the shaft, although they had several hands to work at
the mill. One month they cleaned up twelve thousand dollars.

"You bet I'm going," said Jimmy, "I don't care if it is only a little
compared to what Bright and you fellows are sending. It's a heap sight
to us, and I'm going to see it safe to the city. No more spooks in mine.
I got my fingers crossed. Allah skazallalum! I don't know what a ghost
would want with cash assets, but they seemed to use George's and my
little old five hundred, all right."

Twelve months went by. Two expresses a month toiled up the road. Nothing
happened. Finally Jimmy decided that four good working days a month were
a good deal to pay for apparently useless supervision. Three men
comprised the shot-gun guard. They, with the driver, were considered
ample.

"You'll have to get on without me," said Jimmy to them in farewell. "Be
good boys. We've got the biggest clean-up yet aboard you."

They started on the twenty-fifth trip since the hold-up. After a time,
far up the mountain was heard a single shot. Inside of two hours the
express drew sorrowfully into camp. The driver appeared to be alone. In
the bottom of the wagon were the three guards weak and sick. The gold
sacks were very much absent.

"Done it again," said the driver. "Ain't more than got started afore the
whole outfit's down with the belly-ache. Too much of that cursed salmon.
Told 'em so. I didn't eat none. That road agent hit her lucky this trip
sure. He was all organized for business. Never showed himself at all.
Just opened fire. Sent a bullet through the top of my hat. He's either a
da