hen he looked up at the huge mass above him, and
made an estimate that it would take an army of men, each armed with a
spade and pick, to work it all away. These were probably the marks of
the elderly man among the cowboys, who told him that the reason he
didn't find the nugget was because he didn't dig in the right place. Tom
shouldered his rifle, walked back to his log, and sat down.

"I really believe I have been duped," said he disconsolately. "If the
landslides are all like that, I am certainly not going to work to throw
them all away just to make eight thousand dollars. Besides, what use
will it be to me to work where he has been? I'll go on a little
further."

If Tom had any idea of a landslide, it was a little piece of ground
which could be thrown away in half a day's time; but the sight of a
_real_ landslide was what took his breath away. He didn't eat a very
hearty supper after that, for the thought that was uppermost in his mind
was that the men who had stood by him, and of whom he had a right to
expect something better, had completely fooled him in regard to Elam
Storm's nugget. Instead of telling him that there wasn't any show at all
of his success, they had fitted him out and sent him away to put in a
month of his time. There was one thing about it: he would not go back
until every mouthful in the pack-saddle had been eaten. That much he was
determined on.

"I had an idea that cowboys were above suspicion, but now I know they
are not," said Tom spitefully. "I can waste a month of their grub as
well as anybody, and I won't put a spade in the ground until I see some
prospects of success."

At the end of a week Tom was still of the same determination, although
he saw much to discourage him. It was landslides everywhere, and the
mark of a man's spade was on every one; so it showed that the bronco had
been over that same ground before. The way was getting lonely, they were
getting deeper and deeper into the mountains, and somehow Tom felt very
disconsolate. A deep silence brooded over everything--a silence so
utterly mysterious that he was not accustomed to it. How gladly he would
have welcomed Jerry Lamar and listened to news from home and from the
uncle he had deserted. Another week and Tom found himself hopelessly in
a pocket. Turn which way he would, there was no chance for him to get
out. The man had been there before him--indeed, he seemed to have gone
into all the places and thrown out just earth eno