"So I didn't kill you, boy. Well, I have crimes enough to answer for. The ring is here in my vest pocket. Take it. It will never do me any good now."
Frank quickly extracted the ring from the man's pocket, and slipped it upon his finger.
"I am dying," murmured the man.
"Perhaps not. We'll have you taken back to town, and see what a doctor can do for you."
"No use; I wouldn't live to get there. My time has come. The hidden mine will never reveal its riches to me."
"He is really dying," whispered some one in Frank's ear. "He will not live ten minutes. The wonder is that he is alive at all."
"Who are you? and what is the mystery connected with this ring?" hurriedly asked the boy.
"Never mind my name," came faintly from the lips of the dying man. "It would do you no good to know it. I have lived a wild life—a wicked life. This is the end! Fate brought me to Fardale—fate showed me the ring that bore the chart to the lost mine."
The man stopped and closed his eyes, while the ghastly pallor spread over his face.
A hand held a bottle of liquor to his lips, and he swallowed a few drops, which gave him a few more moments of life. Again his eyes unclosed.