They were encamped upon the hillside, in a deep crevice in the rocks that overhung their heads, where the tiny camp-fire was hidden from any one unless within a half-score yards of the spot. And, as he stated his position, Paul Chicot lay down to sleep, unmindful of the coming storm.
But that night was not to pass without disturbance, even with them. Suddenly the clear report of fire-arms broke upon the air, coming, as all knew, from the gold-hunters' camp.
Peering over the rocks, they saw a strange, luminous light moving above the valley, but before they could guess its meaning, the light suddenly vanished. While still gazing down, they heard a rapid footfall just above them, and then a strangely-shaped, dark figure bounded past them, up the rocks. It seemed the form of a man, bearing an unwieldy bundle upon his shoulder, dark, and dimly-outlined.
Little slumber visited their eyes that night, and his curiosity excited, Chicot plunged through the storm on a reconnoitering expedition. He soon returned, saying that the three gold-hunters were still in their shanty.
Then who or what was the dark figure? Were there still other parties in the valley? Others after the golden hoard that lay beneath the sands?
Awaiting other developments, Chicot and his companions, early in the morning, saw the three friends start forth as if with some definite purpose in view. They hastily passed over the rocky ridge, unconscious of the eyes that so closely watched them.
"Now's our time," eagerly muttered Upshur. "We can go and dig up their gold and be off before they get back."
"Not yet," firmly replied Chicot, who seemed to possess a little more conscience than his comrades. "We don't know how soon they may be back, and I don't want to be caught stealin', jest yet. Le's watch and see what they're about, fust."
Grumblingly Upshur submitted, and the trio crept up to the ridge, and peered over it, keeping well screened. From there they saw the others discover the double trail and closely examine it. Then separating, Duplin and Wythe took one course, Jack Tyrrel the other.
"They're trailin' the critter we see'd, most likely," muttered Chicot. "Le's watch until they git out o' sight, then we'll go fer the gold."