“It may be,” answered Frank, “and I don’t wonder that the corporations at war with your father’s company are fighting for this hill.”
“I don’t believe they even know this gold is here,” Jack suggested.
“They may not know of this special deposit of gold,” Frank continued, “but I’ll tell you right now that they do know of a lot of other deposits.”
“Yes,” Jack returned, “if they didn’t know there was gold here in plenty, they wouldn’t be putting up such a scrap for the possession of the land. Corporations don’t fight for stone piles.”
The boys looked over every foot of the chamber, estimating the amount of virgin gold in sight, and almost unconsciously looking for some evidence that the place had been visited before their arrival. Before long Frank stumbled over a slight obstruction on the level floor of the chamber, and almost fell to his knees.
“What the dickens is coming off here?” he shouted.
“Hush!” warned Jack. “What’s the use of asking the question of the wide, wide world? We don’t know who may be within sound of our voices.”
“One thing I do know,” Frank grumbled, “and that is that I just about busted my big toe! Now what do you suppose that is?”
He stooped as he spoke and lifted what seemed to be a very crude iron pick from the floor. It was nearly a foot in length, with two sharp points, and in the eye between the two, at the center of the implement, were the remains of a wooden handle, rotted away during long years of disuse. The boys eyed it curiously.
“How’s that for a prehistoric implement?” asked Jack.