"Tie the walking-sticks together, then, and don't lose an instant. Roly, run to the top of the bluff and see if you can cut a tall poplar." With these words Uncle Will hastened to work his way down the face of the bluff toward his brother, while Lucky ran down to the point where Mr. Bradford had found the flower, and thence followed his course as far as he could out across the bare gravel. He was able to approach much nearer the imperilled man than was Uncle Will, who came upon the hard surface before he had covered half the distance, and could go no farther.
Indeed, the Indian was within a yard of Mr. Bradford and kicking one last foothold in the treacherous bank preparatory to reaching out for him when, to the horror of all, the stone upon which the white man stood gave way. The sudden wrench tore the stick also from its place. Having thus lost all support, the unfortunate man at once slipped and slid and rolled toward the brink of the precipice. He was beyond human aid. Another moment, and, in spite of his frantic efforts to clutch at the shelving bank, he dashed over the edge of the rock and passed out of sight amid a shower of small stones dislodged by his fall.
There is something indescribably frightful in the sight of a strong man thus powerless to avert his own destruction, and when the victim is a father or brother the horror is intensified a hundred-fold. Uncle Will groaned and shut his eyes.
But he was a man of action, and quickly recovering himself he ran back along the hill with Lucky and David until they could descend to the stream, up which they made their way with reckless haste. Lucky was the most nimble; and as he scrambled to the top of a boulder which had obstructed his view ahead, his usual stolidity gave way to a glad cry. Mr. Bradford lay at the foot of the cliff upon a great bank of snow.
But he lay there so still and lifeless that the rescuers anxiously hastened to his side. They were immediately joined by Roly, whose face was pale with dread. Mr. Bradford had either struck the cliff in his descent, or had been struck by one of the stones which fell with him, for blood was flowing from a cut in the forehead, and he was unconscious. Uncle Will washed the blood from the wound, and wetting his handkerchief in the cold water of the stream, soon coaxed back the life.
"Well, Charley," said he, in a tone of intense satisfaction as he saw his eyes open, "that was the closest call you ever had, but you're coming through all right." And Mr. Bradford did. He had been stunned and shaken, but not seriously injured, and after an hour's rest was able to proceed.
They had not much farther to go. Lucky, who had keenly observed all landmarks, soon halted in the rocky river-bottom and began to search carefully among the boulders. A few minutes later he called out, "Big nuggit here!" and pointed to a sort of knob projecting from a large rock in the stream. Uncle Will hastened to the spot and saw at a glance that this knob was an almost solid mass of yellow metal. But he was too careful a man to accept first appearances, and brought the microscope to bear.
"Ah!" said he, and his face grew long, "it's fool's gold, after all,—just a big chunk of iron pyrites."
"Why, it looks just like gold!" declared Roly, coming up. "I never saw iron of that color."
"Very likely not," said his uncle. "This isn't iron in its pure state, but combined with sulphur. Look through the microscope and you'll see that the metal is crystallized. You won't find gold in that shape."