ced by a
peril already near at hand against which his helpless condition allowed
of no defence. His lonely and monotonous life was destined to be varied
that evening in an unpleasant manner.

CHAPTER III.

TWO GENTLEMEN OF THE ROAD.

Perhaps two hours earlier two horsemen might have been seen riding
slowly over a lower slope of the mountain. The horses they bestrode were
of the Mexican breed, or, in common parlance, mustangs. They were
themselves dressed in Mexican style, and bore a strong resemblance to
bandits as we are apt to picture them.

These gentlemen were Bill Mosely and Tom Hadley, hailing originally from
Missouri, but not reflecting any particular credit on their native
State. They were in fact adventurers, having a strong objection to
honest work and a decided preference for gaining a living by unlawful
means. The very horses they bestrode were stolen, having once belonged
to Jake Bradley and Ben Stanton. The circumstances under which they were
stolen will be remembered by readers of _The Young Explorer_.

"Beastly place, this, Tom!" said Bill Mosely, with a strong expression
of disgust.

"I should say so," answered Hadley, who was wont by this phrase to echo
the sentiments expressed by his companion and leader.

"I wouldn't have come up here if it had proved safe to stay lower down,"
continued Bill Mosely. "That last man we relieved of his gold-dust might
prove troublesome if we should fall in with him again--eh, Tom?"

"I should say so," remarked Mr. Hadley in a tone of sincere conviction.

"I should like to see him when he wakes up and finds his bag of dust
missing," said Mosely, with a laugh.

As he spoke he drew from his pocket a good-sized bag which appeared to
be nearly full of dust. "There must be several hundred dollars' worth
there," he said, complacently.

He expected to hear Hadley answer in his usual style, but was
disappointed.

"When are we going to divide?" asked Hadley, with an expression of
interest not unmingled with anxiety.

"You'd better let me carry it, Tom; it's all the same."

"I should say so. No, I would prefer to take charge of my part," said
Hadley, "or at least to carry the bag part of the time."

Bill Mosely frowned darkly, and he brought his hand near the pocket in
which he carried his pistol. "Hadley," he said, sternly, "do you doubt
my honor?"

"I should say--not," answered Tom Hadley in a dissatisfied tone,
bringing out the last word after a sli