"I should say I was. I wish you had showed me that spot."
"Well, I will the next time I come across one. Good gracious! if I didn't know any more about trailing than you do, I would never find that nugget."
"How do you suppose your father came by it in the first place? He must have got it in some honest way or he wouldn't have had it in his wagon."
"That is one thing that I don't know," answered Elam solemnly. "He got it, and how it ever came noised abroad that it belonged to me beats my time. I wish the man that started that story had it crammed down his throat."
Elam was getting excited again, and we thought it best to leave him alone until he got over thinking about the nugget. We didn't raise any objections when he spurred up his horse and got out of sight of us in the bushes. When we were certain that he had passed out of hearing, Tom said:
"Why, it is two years since that man, whoever he was, made that trail through here, and to think he can find some traces of it now! It bangs me completely."
"There are two things which must be taken into consideration," said I. "In the first place that man didn't know what he left of a trail; he hoped nobody would ever find it. A twig may have been broken down and he left it so, certain it would lead him back to the place where he had buried his find. In the next place there is some little sign for which Elam is looking that will lead him directly to the place he wants to find; some branch of a tree that has been broken down and looks as though somebody had been browsing there, and it will tell Elam that he is hot on the trail. Do you see?"
"Yes, I see; but I don't see how a man can follow a trail two years old. I wish you would show me his next camping ground. If I am a lucky omen, I may be able to find the nugget."
I laughed and promised Tom that I would show him the next place I found; but it was a long time before I found any. You could not have told that a man had passed through there in one year or ten, the weather had so completely done away with all his work. But it did not make any difference to Elam. Sometimes he would be gone before we were up, but he always came back to supper, which we took pains to have good and hot for him. We never made any enquiries, for he knew just how impatient we were, and he would not keep us waiting a moment longer than was necessary. We had been in the canyon six weeks, and, to tell you the truth, Tom and I were getting pretty tired of the search. It was the same thing over and over every day, and I was glad that nobody had connected my name with a lost nugget. Elam would go along on foot, leaving his horse to follow or not as he pleased; and if he found a little pile of stones on the bank that didn't look as though it had been thrown up by nature, he would go into the bushes and perhaps be gone for an hour. We had long ago passed the pocket, and were continuing on our way slowly and laboriously up the canyon, and one day Elam startled Tom by calling out:
"I reckon you will think I am all right now. Here is the place where that fellow camped."