“Most everyone does up here. It is an old Indian legend, and probably has no more foundation in fact than most Indian legends,” answered the guide. “Mind you, I am not saying that such a place doesn’t exist. No doubt there are many rich veins in the Cascade Range yet to be discovered. Petersen evidently believed he had found it, but he undoubtedly was delirious when he described the spot. He had been shot, you know.”
“When he made the entries in his diary he hadn’t been shot,” retorted Miss Briggs with some warmth. She checked herself sharply.
“Not having seen the entries I cannot say,” replied White.
“What puzzles me is what became of the contents of the bag of gold. Surely the bandit who came back did not take it, for he did not have the opportunity,” reminded Captain Gray. “What became of it, Elfreda?”
“Have a look at this,” spoke up Hippy Wingate, tossing a small leather pouch of his own into Elfreda’s lap.
“Wha—what—” gasped the girl.
“It is the gold you thought had been stolen, and—”
A peculiar whirring sound checked what Hippy was about to say. The Overlanders glanced up and saw descending upon them what they took to be a falling firebrand, with a streamer of light like the tail of a comet following it.
“Look out!” shouted Hippy.
His warning was not necessary, for the Overland Riders had leaped to their feet and ran for cover. The firebrand hit the ground with a thud, and as it landed Hamilton White threw a blanket on it, and himself on the blanket to smother the flame. The guide knew that there was a meaning in that flaming visitor’s arrival, and he wished to ascertain it.