of the hill the wind was blowing a regular gale and the boys
and the old miner were glad enough to go down on the other side, where
they would be somewhat sheltered. But even below it was cold, and the
air seemed to strike to their very backbones.

"Winter is comin' all right enough," announced Jack Wumble. "We'll be
lucky if we git out o' here afore it catches us."

They trudged along until all were too weary to walk another step. They
were keeping their eyes open for a spot where they might camp for the
night, when Dick uttered a cry.

"Look! They must have remained here last night!"

The others gazed to where he pointed and saw, in a shelter of the
rocks, the remains of a campfire. Beside the ashes lay a part of a
broken strap and also some fine shavings from a stick.

"Ike Furner's mark," remarked Wumble, pointing to the shavings. They
had been told by several men that one of Furner's habits was to whittle
a stick. He never rested and talked but what he got out his jackknife
and started to cut on a bit of wood. At another campfire, two days
back, they had come across a heap of just such whittlings.

"How new is that campfire?" asked Dick, of the old miner.

Jack Wumble examined the heap of dead ashes with care.

"I should say not more'n a day--maybe not thet," he answered. "Boys, I
reckon we're close on 'em."

"Oh, if only it wasn't so dark and we weren't so tired!" murmured Sam.

"We can't do much in the darkness, and with a storm coming on,"
returned Dick. "We'll have to wait until morning. But we had better
start out directly it is daylight."

While the others were preparing supper, Dick commenced to arrange the
shelter for the night. While he was doing this he noticed something
white fluttering on the ground in the wind. He picked it up. It was a
sheet of paper, evidently a page torn from a notebook.

"Look what I found," he said, coming close to the light of the
campfire. He gazed at the sheet with deep interest. "Well, I never!
Sam, look at this!" he cried.

"What is it, Dick?"

"I think Tom wrote this. Poor fellow! Isn't it too bad!"

The sheet of paper had been scribbled on with a lead pencil. The
writing was in all sorts of curves, and was largely as follows:

_To To To To Ro Ro Ro To
Ro To Bri To Ro Bri
Nel Nel Nel Di S S
To Ro To Ro Tover Tomer
Nel Nel Nel Nel Neltom_

"Oh, Dick, what do you make of this?"

"What do I mak