“Me neither,” he returned. “But if you’ll step into this here crosscut, I’ll show you something that’s about three times as good.”
For an instant the Yale man hesitated, thinking of the sinister note on the blotter. But here in this lighted spot, with men on every side, there was nothing McDonough could do, even if he was the man to whom that note was written. Certainly he didn’t propose to let the fellow think he was afraid.
“Why, yes,” he said quietly; “I’d like very much to see it.”
The rest of the party were busy watching the miners and paid no attention when Dick turned and followed the brawny foreman about twenty feet back along the passage and then into a drift which ran at right angles.
This drift curved so sharply that they had not gone more than a dozen steps before the entrance was lost to sight. Presently McDonough stopped and held his candle close to the wall.
“That’s some to the good, I tell you,” he said enthusiastically; “and it’s better yet further on. We——”
He broke off abruptly and listened.
“Gee! There’s the old man calling!” he exclaimed. “Hold this, will you? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
He thrust the candle into Merriwell’s hand and darted back along the passage. Dick examined the ore with much interest. It certainly was rich and averaged much more to the ton than that in the outer drift. A footstep sounded, and looking up, he saw a figure advancing toward him from the opposite end of the passage. For a moment he thought it was McDonough, and wondered how he had managed to get around so soon; for he comprehended at once that the tunnel must have another entrance. Then the man spoke, and he realized that it was Orren Fairchilds.
“Taking a look at my prize vein, are you?” the mine owner said briskly. “How did you find——”