“You shall never know where,” replied the Indian. “But you shall see that I, Natachee, do not lie.”
From a peg in the wall he took a short rope and from the cupboard drawer a cloth and two candles. One of the candles he offered to Hugh with an insolent smile.
“If you are not afraid of the ghosts that, in the night and the darkness, haunt the Cañon of Gold.”
The amazed white man, snatching the candle, motioned impatiently for the Indian to proceed.
CHAPTER XXII
THE LOST MINE
“The hope that brought the first white man to the Cañada del Oro is your only hope. You shall labor—you shall find your gold—if you can.”
FROM the door of the hut the Indian led the way into the darkness.
There was no friendly moon. The sky was overcast with lowering clouds that shut out the light of the stars. From the thick blackness of the cañon far below, the sullen murmur of the creek came up like the growl of angry voices from the depth of some black pit. The mountains seemed to breathe like gigantic monsters in a weird, dream world. The very air was heavy with the mystery of the night.
They had not gone a hundred yards before the white man lost all sense of direction. As they made their way down the steep side of the mountain he could scarcely distinguish the form of the Indian who was within reach of his hand.
Presently Natachee stopped, and, lighting the candle he carried, said: