The voice of Jack Tyrrel, for whom they had dared and endured so much!
"Boys—thank God! you are here!"
These were the words. Then Duplin and Wythe sprung forward. It was a happy meeting, and for a time none noticed the maiden, who had shrunk back against the wall. But then Jack glanced around and said:
"Lucy, come here; these are my friends. And, boys, if you are glad to see me, thank her. She saved my life."
This introduction put all upon the best of terms, and for a time that was a joyous group. But then Lucy's thoughts reverted to her father. Where was he? Why had he not returned? Never before had he remained so long absent.
Jack, with eyes wonderfully sharpened by the last few hours, read aright her thoughts, and closely questioned his comrades, who were now eating the food set before them by Lucy, in immense haste, as to whether they had seen the madman—or, as he said, Mr. Bradford. Warned by their suspicions, they said little of what had occurred, but volunteered to go in quest of him.
"Thank you, boys. I'd go, but this confounded hurt won't let me. Take a look at the camp, while out. He may be there."
Their hunger appeased, the two men descended the cliff, and set off at a rapid rate toward their camp. After an hour's hard walking they reached the crest of the hill from which they had first gazed down upon the valley that contained the bed of gold nuggets.
Both paused, with a simultaneous cry. Human forms met their gaze. Their camp was occupied!
Over a mile distant, they could not recognize sex or color. Of course, none but men were there, but were they white or red—enemies or friends? Scarcely the latter, though.