"I came from down in Mississippi, where my uncle owns a plantation and a heap of niggers," answered Tom, who did not like the way the boy eyed him when he spoke.
"And right there is where you ought to have stayed," said Elam. "Did you hear anything about the nugget down there?"
"Of course not," replied Tom, surprised at the proposition. "I started to go to Texas, but got on the wrong boat and was brought up here. I couldn't do anything else, and so Mr. Parsons grub-staked me and sent me into the mountains. He lives out that way a short distance."
"How far do you call a short distance?"
"Fifteen or twenty miles, maybe."
"Haw-ha! Man, you're just about a hundred miles from where he lives."
Tom caught his breath, but could say nothing in reply.
"You have been going further and further away from him ever since you lost your horse," continued Elam. "Come on; let's go and get your rifle."
"You say that nugget of yours was lost twenty years ago," said Tom, as he fell in behind Elam, being afraid to do anything else. "You are not that old, are you?"
"Well, not so long as that!" laughed Elam. "It is a long story and will take you a good portion of the evening to listen to it. I will tell it to you to-night. Now, then, which canyon did you come down?"