ng to rest; "it's neck or nothin' is it--never ventur' never win,
is the word? Well, well, 'tis the way o' the world. My blessin' go wid
ye, doctor." With this benediction on his lips he turned round, shook
the ashes out of his pipe and went to sleep.

CHAPTER SIX.

IN WHICH WILL MAKES A RETROGRADE MOVEMENT, AND THINGS COME TO A PRETTY
PASS--A SUDDEN AND DECISIVE STEP.

Next morning, true to his word, Will Osten started off to retrace his
steps to San Francisco, much to the regret as well as surprise of all
his friends, except Larry O'Hale and Bunco, both of whom, being aware of
his motive, chuckled mightily in their sleeves but wisely said nothing.
Will was accompanied by Captain Dall and Mr Cupples, the former of whom
gave him an account of his adventures since the period of their
separation in the South Seas. As most of these adventures, however,
were not particularly striking, and as they do not bear upon our tale,
we will not inflict them on the reader, but merely refer to that part of
the captain's career which was mixed up with our hero's new possessions
in the Grizzly Bear Gulch, as his valley was named.

"You see, doctor," said Captain Dall, as they cantered easily over the
soft turf of a wide plain, which, a little beyond the entrance to the
gulch, spread out for a considerable distance along the base of the
Sierra Nevada, "you see, when we discovered that this valley, or gulch,
as they call it here, was yours--or your father's, which I suppose means
the same thing--Captain Blathers, Mr Cupples, Muggins, Old Peter, and I
held a council of war, and came to the conclusion that we would go up
an' have a look at it, hopin' to find gold, but first of all we went to
the regular diggin's on the Sacramento River to learn how to wash out
the dirt an' make enough to keep us goin'. When we had done this an'
lined our pockets with enough of gold-dust to set us up, we started for
Grizzly Bear Gulch, where we found nobody but Old Timothy, the native
that had been your uncle's servant."

"Timothy," said Will, "was that his name?"

"No, but he could not tell us his name, for the good reason that he does
not understand a word of English, so we christened him Timothy, and he
answers to it. The old man cut up rusty at first, and seemed disposed
to drive us away, but by howling the name of Osten into his ears and
giving him a little gold, we converted him into a friend, and got him to
allow us to squat in the empt