Where?"

"Right in front of us! See? Hurry, or he'll be over the top."

"That's not a bear. That's a cow."

"Cow your grandmother! 'Tis, too! A grizzly! They grow as big as
cows in this country. Aren't you going to shoot? Give me that gun."

The burro and the horse had seen or smelled, for they were pulling back
and snorting, ears pricked, eyes Staring. Billy stepped on his lead
rope, and leveled his gun like lightning.

[Illustration: Billy stepped on his lead rope and leveled his gun like
lightning]

"Bang!" The big bear gave a jump aside and turning sharp lumbered
faster, straight for the top. "Bang!" spoke Billy's patent repeater,
again. And just as the bear disappeared over the top, "Bang!" shot
Billy, a third time. But the bear was gone.

"Did I hit him? Did I hit him?" panted Billy. "Whoa, there, you
horse. Did I hit him?"

"Don't think so," panted Charley, just as excited. "Maybe you did,
though. I heard the bullets sing, anyway. One must have struck rock.
Come on; let's go over. Tie your horse. How many shots you got left?

"Four."

In a jiffy they tied the horse and burro to the brush, and away they
pelted, lunging and staggering up the slope, to the place where they
had seen the bear.

He wasn't there now, and he wasn't anywhere in sight, either; and
though they searched closely, they could not find even a drop of blood.

"I guess I missed him clean," confessed Billy, ruefully. "I was in too
big a hurry."

"It's hard shooting up hill; and he was running, too," sympathized
Charley, "Let's see where the bullets hit."

That would be some satisfaction; so they searched more. Presently
Billy yelped:

"Here's where one hit. It knocked a big chunk out of the rock. Funny
looking rock." And then he exclaimed: "Come over, Charley. Quick!
The rock's got a lot of yellow in it!"

"What color rock?" demanded Charley.

"Whitish."

"Let's see."

Billy pointed, and he also handed up the piece that the bullet had
knocked loose. Yes, the fresh side of the piece was white and
glistening--and the whiteness was mottled with dull yellow. The scar
in the rocky ridge also was white and yellow mottled.

"Is it gold, Charley?" gasped Billy, anxiously.

"I don't know, for sure," said Charley, trying not to be foolish. "But
I think this is quartz, all right enough; and if that yellow's soft
enough to be scraped with a knife blade it's liable to be gold." He
drew out his knife f