Sunrise on Monday found them once more on the way. Riding was now much easier, and they made rapid progress, all traveling side by side.
That night they encamped near the edge of another mountain torrent. It was a beautiful spot, the prettiest they had yet stopped at.
Oliver sat on a flat rock, his chin in his hands. It was the last night’s camp on that lone spot. What did the morrow hold in store?
All through the night he slept but little. Once Gus awoke and noticed it. Rolling over, he whispered,—
“Don’t worry, old boy; it will be all right, mark my words.”
“I trust so,” replied Oliver. “I wish it was over.”
He was the first to be stirring, and he cautioned Cottle to halt as soon as the mining district should appear in sight. Then in a short quarter of an hour they were off.
On and over the plain, five, ten, fifteen miles. Then they began slowly to ascend a steep but small mountain, halting at the top.
“There,” said the guide, pointing to a spot not a quarter of a mile away, “[there is the Cortez mine, and just below it is the Aurora]!”