down, when, as the light from above fell upon it, I snatched it
from his hand.

"Don't do that," he cried angrily. "I want to judge how deep the place
is."

"Don't throw that," I said huskily.

"Why not?"

"It isn't a well."

"What is it, then?"

"Look at this piece of stone," I said, and I held the under part upward
so that the light fell upon two or three scale-like grains and a few
fine yellowish-green threads which ran through it. "It's an ancient
mine, and this is gold."

"Right!" cried Denham excitedly. "Then that old place back there with
the chimney is the old smelting-furnace."

"Right you are, gentlemen," cried Briggs, slapping his thigh; "and I
know what those two hand-barrow stones are. I've seen one like 'em
before."

"What?" I said eagerly.

"Moulds, sir, as the old people used to pour the melted stuff in. They
used to do it near my old home in Cornwall, only the metal there was
tin."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE OLD FOLKS WORK.

"Then this isn't a well, after all," said Denham, who seemed struck with
wonderment.

"No," I said excitedly, as all kinds of Aladdin-like ideas connected
with wealth began to run through my mind; "but there's water in it, and
it will serve us as a well."

"Yes, of course," cried Denham. "I say, you two have made a discovery."
Then he lit a match, got it well in a blaze, and let it drop down the
square shaft, when it kept burning till, at about a hundred feet below
us, it went out with a faint hiss, which told that it had reached the
water.

"It'll do for a well, sir," said Briggs; "and I wouldn't mind getting
down it at the end of a rope. I've done it before now, when a well's
been rather doubtful, and we've had to burn flares down it to start the
foul air. That hole's as clear as can be."

"How do you know?" said Denham.

"By the way that match burned till it reached the water, sir. If the
air down there had been foul it would have been put out before it
reached the surface."

"But there will be no need for you to go down, sergeant," I said. "We
can reach the water with a few tether ropes."

"To get the water--yes, my lad," said the sergeant, with a queer
screwing up of his face; "but I was thinking about the gold."

"Oh, we've no time to think of gold," said Denham shortly. "But I say,
Val, isn't this all a mistake? Who could have built such a place and
worked for gold--making a mine like this?"

"I don't know," I said, "unless it w