“I may be, Grace dear. When I opened the bag, after putting Mr. Petersen’s horse away, I found that it contained nothing but worthless quartz rock. There was no gold there. The nuggets and gold dust had been taken out. Someone had stolen the nuggets and dust in the short time that I was away from the shack.”
Grace uttered an exclamation.
“When Stacy and I returned to the shack, we found Mr. White sitting in the cabin. I asked him to go outside for a moment, and while he was away I got the bag. Then I made an excuse for going out into the forest. On emptying the contents of the bag into my lap I found that I was the proud possessor of only a bag of worthless stones!”
“Elfreda! You don’t mean to infer that Mr. White took it—you can’t think such a terrible thing of him!” begged Grace.
“I don’t know what to think. He was there; he has acted peculiarly ever since, and has avoided me. Isn’t it a natural thing for me at least to wonder?” demanded Miss Briggs.
“Elfreda Briggs, I am amazed!” cried Grace Harlowe. “Is that why you have been so cold and distant towards the guide? He does not deserve such treatment. Were I in your place I should, in the light of what you have told me, tell him the story that you have related to me.”
“No, no!” Elfreda said with strong emphasis. “I have no reason for confiding in anyone but you. Neither shall I do anything farther in this matter. Gold mines—gold doesn’t bring happiness. Quite the contrary, so far as my experience goes.”
“Yes, that is true, but after one has found happiness, gold is a mighty good thing to keep that happiness from getting wobbly. I—” Grace paused abruptly. She thought she had heard a sound close at hand. Grabbing the flashlight, she swung the bar of light about with one hand, the other hand holding the prospector’s diary.
An amazing thing occurred.
The prospector’s diary was whisked away from Grace Harlowe, leaving in her hand only a leaf out of it that she had held between her fingers.