sentiment of the community. Then some literary shark gits up and spins a
yarn about killin' some goose what laid eggs that assayed a hundred per
cent., an' they decides that it would be a humane thing to arrange that
Burns shan't go out into the dark without some comfortin' friend beside
him. So they dispatches the homicide, neat an' pretty, with the aid of a
rope, an' remarks after the doin's is over that Burns is probably a heap
less lonesome."

"Well, I should think that would have stopped all chance of further
search," said Wilbur.

"It did. But a year or two after that, Burns acquires the habit of
intrudin' his memory on the minds of some of these here friends. When it
gits noised about that a certain kind of nose-paint is some advantageous
toward this particular brand of dream, why, there ain't no way of
keeping a sufficient supply in camp. I goes up against her myself, an'
wild licker she is. But one by one, the boys all gets to dreamin' that
Burns has sorter floated afore them, accordin' to ghostly etiquette, an'
pointed a ghostly finger at the ground. Which ain't so plumb exact, for
no one supposes a mine to be up in the air. But different ones affirms
that they can recognize the features of the landscape which the ghost of
Burns frequents. As, however, they all strikes out in different
directions, I ain't takin' no stock therein.

"But, two years ago, when I was meanderin' around lookin' for signs, I
comes across the bones of an old mule with the remains of a saddle on
his back, an' I didn't have any trouble in guessin' it to be Burns's.
There was no way of tellin', though, whether he was goin' or returnin'
when the mule broke down, or if he was far or near the mine, but,
anyhow, it gave some idee of direction, an' I reckon I'm goin' to find
it."

"All right," said the Supervisor as they shook up their horses ready to
go, "I hope you have good luck and find it."

"I'll let you or Rifle-Eye know as soon as I do," called back the
prospector, "an' you folks can pan out some samples. If I find it, we'll
make the Yukon look sick."

Merritt laughed as they cantered down the trail to headquarters.

[Illustration: SAND BURYING A PEAR ORCHARD.

Almost too late to save a fine plantation which a suitable wind-break of
trees would have guarded.

_Photo by U. S. Forest Service._]

CHAPTER XIV

A ROLLING CLOUD OF SMOKE

The days became hotter and hotter, and each morning when Wilbur rose he
search