"I'm going!" breathed Clark huskily. "Here—in[Pg 172] my pocket here you will find a rude chart that may lead you to my rich mines in the Mazatzals. Feel in my pocket for the leather case. That's it. Take it—keep it. It's yours. The mines are yours—if you can find them. Boxer is yours. Be good to him. Poor old Boxer!"
He closed his eyes and lay so still that Frank fancied the end had come. But it was not yet. After a little he slowly opened his eyes and looked at Merry. Immediately Frank knelt beside him, with uncovered head.
The dying man then looked at the dog.
"Boxer," he said faintly, "I'm going off on my long trail, and we'll never meet up again this side of the happy hunting-grounds. Good-by, old dog! This is your new master. Stick to him like glue, old boy. Fight for him—die for him, if you have to. I opine you understand what I mean."
A strange sound came from the throat of the dog—a sound that was almost like a human sob. If ever a dog sobbed that one did. Agony and sorrow was depicted in his attitude and the look in its red eyes.
The miner took the dog's paw and placed it in Frank Merriwell's hand, his body lying between them.
"I make you pards," said Benson Clark.
Then he whispered to Frank:
"Can't you pray? I've clean forgot all the prayers I ever knew. But I feel that I need a prayer said for me now, for I'm going up before the judgment bar.[Pg 173] Pray, partner—pray to the Great Judge that He will be easy with me."
So Frank Merriwell prayed, and that prayer fell upon the heart of the dying man with such soothing balm that all fear and dread left him, and he passed into the great unknown with a peaceful smile on his weather-worn face.