"I came after the mother lode," was the reply.
"Have you got it in your pocket?" asked the little fellow.
"I didn't say I found it," was the grave reply. "I said I came in here looking for it. There was a party left Sicuani, over to the east, two weeks ago, and I trailed in behind. You see, I had a fool idea that these people were on the track of a big gold find, and so just naturally sneaked along. They had an automobile. I walked. They had plenty of provisions. I had no one to grub-stake me. They feasted while I starved, but the way is rough and slow, especially when tires break, and I managed to keep up with them until two days ago. Then they got away from me."
"Did you find gold?" asked Ned.
The stranger shook his head.
"Nothing doing!" he said. "I've been grubstaked all over Australia, and up the Yukon, and over Death Valley, but I have never found a spot where there's so little gold as there is in these hills."
"So, you are an American tourist?" asked Ned.
"I am," was the grave reply. "I stowed away on a ship bound for Asuncion and got a job shoveling coal to pay for the rottenest grub I ever ate. When we got up the river to Asuncion I hired out to a man to herd cattle. That was worse, only the air was not so confining."
"So you left and went to Sicuani?" asked Ned.
"Exactly, after many days. I liked the cattle business all right, but I had to move on. Horace M. Lyman is a good chap to—"