“But the chest of gold?” exclaimed Bob.
“They never found a trace of it,” answered the miner. “It was never located, though I had more than one look for it, and so did lots of others. There was a fortune of pure gold in that chest, and it was a pity to lose it. But we never found it.”
“But what could have become of it?” demanded Jerry. “A big chest having rolled down the side of a mountain, must have landed somewhere.”
“It very likely did,” answered Mr. Cromley. “Landed down in some hole or gully. But there are so many of them in that part of the country you might hunt for five years and never strike the right one. It’s a wild bit of territory out there near Blue Rock. Thunder Mountain is another wild region. Let’s see, what did you say the name of your mining friend was out there—Brassy Madison?”
“No, Tinny Mallison,” replied Jerry. “His real name is Tinnith, but we call him Tinny.”
“Um! Good name for a gold miner,” commented the lame man. “He’ll very likely strike tin instead of gold nine times out of ten. No, I never heard of him.”
“He hasn’t been mining very long,” explained Ned. “He just got back from the war—same as we did.”
“Do you think you’ll ever go back West to the mines?” asked Bob, as the boys moved on toward their car, for there was little now that they could do. On all sides could be heard murmurs of admiration over their promptness in saving the lives of the imperiled ones.
“Oh, yes, I reckon so,” was the answer. “Once you get to be as old as I am it’s hard to give up the gold-mining craze. I reckon I’ll go back. In fact, my sister and I were talking about my going back when this fire happened. Of course I’m going to stay now until I see if I can help them. But I’ll go back before the summer’s over.”