By a strange coincidence, it was the same week that Andrew Malden struck a rich pocket of gold back of Lookout Point and secretly carried it down to Gold City bank and paid off the mortgage on the four hundred acres back of the mill, that Job Malden was held up.
This is how it happened: Just after hours one night the superintendent called Job into his private office and said:
"Young man, how much will you sell yourself for?"
Decidedly startled, Job answered: "What do you mean, sir?"
"I mean," said the portly, gray-haired man, with his set mouth and black eyes, all business, "Can I trust you with a large sum of money? or will the temptation to use it for yourself be too strong?"
"Sir," answered Job indignantly, "sir, I have no price! I want none but honest money as mine."
"Well, all right, my boy; I guess I can trust you," said his employer. "Now, I have some bullion to be taken down to the Wells-Fargo office at Gold City, to go off on the morning stage. You will find Dick, my horse, saddled at the stable. Eat some supper, mount Dick, come around to the rear of my house, and the bag will be waiting. Take it down to the Wells-Fargo office, where the man will be waiting to get it. I have sent him word. Hurry now! And mind you don't lose any of it. Will give you a week's extra pay if you get through all right."
With a "Thank you, sir; I'll do the best I can," Job hurried off on his responsible errand.
It was a beautiful moonlight evening in June. Crossing the summit of the mountain, the fresh breeze fanned his brow, heated with the warm day's labor, and he walked Dick along, drinking in once more with genuine joy the grandeur of the forests robed in silver light. Just beyond Mike Hennessy's, as he turned into the main road, clouds obscured the moon and a somber pall fell over the road. He felt to see that his treasure was safe, and urged Dick into a canter.
He had not gone far when he thought he heard horse's hoofs behind him. He stopped to listen, his heart beating a little more quickly, and then hurried on. Again, more distinctly, he heard them coming down the last hill. He put spurs to Dick as a strange fear came over him. Up the hill before him he rode at a gallop, and on down the next. Faster and louder in the dim darkness rang the hoofs of the horse behind him. He was being pursued—there was no doubt of it now. If there had been, the report of a pistol and the whiz of a bullet past his head would have quickly dispelled it. Then began a wild chase. Up hill and down hill, over rough creek-beds, down the Gold City road, they flew. How Job wished for Bess! She could have outdistanced any horse, but Dick was not her equal. The hoof-beats in the rear grew louder.