in, they passed down into a
quiet little valley, just as the sun sank behind the tops of the
mountains to the west.

The moment Dickson entered the valley he uttered an exclamation of
pleasure.

"Hurrah!" he cried. "We've hit the trail again! I am sure this is the
little valley where Stackpole and I camped the first night out from
Humbug Canyon. There should be a spring bubbling out of the ground at
the point of that spur of rocks where you see that little grove of
trees," and he pointed to a small grove of trees that clustered about
the point of a ridge of rocks that projected, like a long bony finger,
from the side of the surrounding mountains down into the little valley.
"We made our camp in the grove. I'll know the place for sure when we get
there by a tree that Stackpole girdled," and, accompanied by Thure and
Bud, he started on the run for the little grove of trees now about half
a mile away.

In a few minutes the three reached the trees. The spring was there! By
its side stood a tall sycamore tree, dead, its trunk having been girdled
by an ax, as the deep scars in its bark still plainly showed.

"There," and Dickson pointed triumphantly to the tree, "there is my
witness, the very tree that Stackpole girdled, in order that he might
have plenty of dry wood the next time that he camped here. And see," and
he pointed excitedly to the blackened remains of a camp-fire that did
not look to be many weeks old, "there is where he camped on his way back
from the Cave of Gold. We sure are in luck!" and he turned to shout the
good news to the others, who were now pushing their way eagerly through
the trees.

"Here is where we camp for the night," declared Mr. Conroyal, when the
excitement and the jubilation of the discovery that they were surely on
the right trail again had somewhat quieted down; and all at once began
joyfully preparing the camp for the night.

"It's queer how things dew turn out sometimes," philosophized Ham, when
all were seated around a blazing camp-fire, built from the limbs of the
dead sycamore, after the supper had been eaten and all the camp duties
attended to. "Th' miner that murdered that tree, jest so that he might
have dry wood, was murdered himself, jest for his gold; an' here we be
a-settin' around an' takin' comfort from a camp-fire built from th' dead
limbs of th' dead miner's dead tree, an' bound on a hunt for th' dead
miner's gold. Wal, I shore hopes we have better luck than he did."