“You ain’t old enough yet, Joe. You’re a good-lookin’ feller, and when the time comes I guess you can find somebody.”
“I don’t begin to trouble myself about such things yet,” said Joe, laughing. “I am only sixteen.”
“You’ve been through considerable, Joe, for a boy of sixteen. I wish you’d come up to Pumpkin Holler and make me a visit when you’re to home.”
“Perhaps I can arrange to be present at your wedding, Mr. Bickford—that is, if Susan doesn’t make you wait too long.”
While this conversation was going on the dark figure of a man was prowling near the tent.
“Why don’t the fools stop talking and go to sleep,” muttered Hogan. “I don’t want to wait here all night.” His wish was gratified.
The two friends ceased talking and lay quite still. Soon Joe’s deep, regular breathing and Bickford’s snoring convinced the listener that the time had come to carry out his plans.
With stealthy step he approached the tent, and stooping over gently removed the nugget from under Joshua’s head. There was a bag of gold-dust which escaped his notice. The nugget was all he thought of.
With beating heart and hasty step the thief melted into the darkness, and the two friends slept on unconscious of their loss.