She looked at the letter again, turning it over, and tried to find some words on the tissue paper, but there were none. The writing—the few words—which the letter contained, read:
“This is a sample of the stuff I told you about; and there’s more where it came from, if it can be got.”
No name was signed.
She ran out from the little house, but the rider had passed on swiftly, and now was far beyond the reach of her voice. Although she shouted to him, and waved her hand, holding up the letter, he did not turn in the saddle to look back, and he did not hear her.
Once more she tried to find the meaning of those words, and stared at the shining bit of gold.
She knew it was gold; the weight and its appearance told her that; and the hieroglyphics on it informed her it was not a natural gold nugget.
She knew that a mistake had been made, but what it was all about she could not guess.
“I’ll have to thank you, young man, for this gold, anyway,” she said, looking at the retreating horseman with a smile. “And I’d just like to know where more of these nuggets are!”
The mystery of the thing appealed to her imagination, and set it to work.
There were no gold mines in that section, nor any hint that gold was to be found. The country had long been the stamping ground of Indians and the immense buffalo herds which served them for game. Some of the buffaloes were left, but most of the Indians, after their last war with the whites, had been placed on a reservation.