“There it is! There is the stone near where I hid the gold! Let’s get out and hunt for it!”
He pointed to a mass of rock that did bear a close resemblance to a church, steeple and all. It was a much more realistic resemblance than the other had been.
“That’s her all right!” asserted Mr. Brill. “Things have changed considerable though, since I hid the gold, but I guess that’s on account of the landslide. But there’s the pocket all right, where I put the nuggets,” and, as they had all gotten out of the airship, he pointed to a crevice near the great stone—a fissure in the side of the valley partly filled with rocks.
“The gold is there!” cried Harvey Brill, pointing with a shaking hand. “I took it out of the sacks, and put it in there in a wooden box.”
Jim Nestor had brought a pick, and he now attacked the loose stones with vigor. A few minutes sufficed to clear out the fissure, or pocket, where Mr. Brill had deposited the nuggets.
“Why—why—it’s empty!” gasped the mine foreman, as he got to the bottom. “There isn’t any gold here, Harvey! And no box, either!”
“No gold there!” cried the prospector, aghast.
“Not a nugget! The pocket is empty!”