light
they would have run small risk of discovery, for slow-moving human
figures would have been lost against the dark background.

The climb was long and arduous; both men were panting when they
breasted the last rise and looked down into the valley where lay the
Aurora Borealis. This was a desolate spot, great boulders, fallen from
the huge rock overhead, lay all about, the earth was weathered by
winter snows and summer rains. Ghostly fingers of mist writhed over
the peak; darkness was not far distant.

The robbers remained on the crest perhaps twenty minutes, then they
came striding down. They passed within a hundred yards of Laughing
Bill Hyde, who lay flat in the wet grass midway of their descent.
He watched them mount and ride out of sight, then he continued his
painful progress up the hillside.

Weak lungs are not suited to heavy grades and slippery footing. Bill
was sobbing with agony when he conquered the last rise and collapsed
upon his face. He feared he was dying, every cough threatened a
hemorrhage; but when his breath came more easily and he missed the
familiar taste of blood in his mouth he rose and tottered about
through the fog. He could discover no tracks; he began to fear the
night would foil him, when at last luck guided his aimless footsteps
to a slide of loose rock banked against a seamy ledge. The surface of
the bank showed a muddy scar, already half obliterated by the rain;
brief search among the near-by boulders uncovered the hiding-place of
a pick and shovel.

For once in his life Mr. Hyde looked upon these tools with favor, and
energetically tackled the business end of a "Number 2." He considered
pick-and-shovel work the lowest form of human endeavor; nevertheless
he engaged in it willingly enough, and he had not dug deeply before
he uncovered the side of a packing-case, labeled "Choice California
Canned Fruits." Further rapid explorations showed that the box was
fitted with a loose top, and that the interior was well-nigh filled
with stout canvas and moose skin bags. Bill counted them; he weighed
one, then he sat down weakly and his hard, smoke-blue eyes widened
with amazement.

"Suffering cats!" he whispered. He voiced other expletives, too, even
more forcefully indicative of surprise. He was not an imaginative man;
it did not occur to him to doubt his sanity or to wonder if he were
awake, nevertheless he opened one of the pokes and incredulously
examined its contents. "I'm dam' if it