Black Mayo did not notice the boy’s conscious air. He was watching his pigeons fluttering and circling about, white against the woodland, dark against the shining sky.
“I used to go there;� he said. “Ah! the hours and days I spent, seeking its treasure. It was one of the great adventures of my boyhood.�
“Did you ever find any?—any silver in the mine, I mean,� Dick asked eagerly.
His cousin gave a smiling negative.
“Do you suppose?—perhaps there isn’t any.� Dick’s voice dropped in disappointment.
“I believe there is,� said Black Mayo. “Silver was found there by old Mallett, not long after the Revolution. You’ve heard the tale handed down in his family. Some years ago, when I was rummaging through old court records, I found the account of his trial for ‘feloniously making, uttering, and passing false and counterfeited Coin in the likeness and similitude of Spanish milled Dollars of the value of six shillings Current money of Virginia.’ That was in 1792.�
“But the mine was worked after that, wasn’t it?� asked Dick.
“Oh, yes! My grandfather Mayo, your great-grandfather, had it worked, but it never paid. It doesn’t seem reasonable that the old blacksmith spaded out all the silver that was there. There’s a tale that a valuable vein was struck and lost. You might take a look around to-day, and you and I might go prospecting some time,� he said, now looking keenly at Dick.
The boy reddened to the roots of his hair. “Yes, sir,� he said. “It’s time I was gone.�
Mayo Osborne looked after him with a whimsical smile. “Straight to the Old Sterling Mine, I’ll wager my head!� he laughed.