"That's just what we're tryin' to find out, sis," replied Chub. "Matt and I are pretty much up in the air, an' if this candle-wrapper don't give us a clue I guess we'll stay up. If you'll subside for a brace of shakes, I'll read this aloud, and we'll see where it lands us."
"Go on," said the girl breathlessly. "I do hope there isn't anything the matter with dad."
There is always more or less peril attending the work of a prospector. Mr. McReady had been gone for several weeks on his present trip, and this letter, which had fallen thus strangely into the hands of Chub and Susie, was the very first news they had had from him since he had left home.
"It was written in the Phœnix Mountains," said Chub, examining the sheet, "five days ago. It's hard to read, as the pencil didn't make much of a mark on the grease-spots, but I guess I can puzzle it out."
Chub read slowly, pausing from time to time to get over some difficult point in the writing. The letter was as follows:
"My Dear Son: I am writing this in the Phœnix Mountains, about five miles northwest of the Bluebell Mine and a quarter of a mile to the left of the old pack-trail leading from Yuma to Prescott. Above me is a peak with a 'blow-out' of white quartz in the form of a cross. You can see the peak and the cross easily from the pack-trail. At the base of the peak I have piled my monuments on a gold claim which promises big things for the McReady family—in fact, I am sure it is the 'strike' which I have been trying to make for years. The discovery is mine, but if I get it safely located you will have to help me. I have lost the blank location notices I had with me, and I can't leave the claim to come to Phœnix after any more. A prospector named Jacks—grub-staked by Hawley, of Phœnix—was spying upon me when I made the 'strike.' Jacks is a ruffian, and if I left the claim for any length of time, he would put up his own location notice and rush to Phœnix to put another on record.
"I am sending this to you by a Mexican wood-hauler named Pedro Morales. He's not the sort of messenger I'd like, but he's the only one I can find. I hope you'll get this all right. If you do, hire a horse somewhere and come out here at once with the two blank location notices. It is just as well to be careful when you come, so as not to have any trouble with Jacks. If your wireless-telegraph line is working, I may try to reach Delray at the Bluebell and have him forward a message to you confirming this letter.
"Now, Mark, the McReady fortunes are at stake, and it's up to you to make good. And, whatever you do, hurry. From
Your Father."
There were many comments from Matt and Susie while Chub was reading. Chub's eyes lighted with exultation as he read of his father's "strike," and the face of his sister glowed with happiness.
"What d'ye think of that, sis?" cried Chub, when he had finished with the letter. "Hurrah for dad! It won't be long, now, before the McReadys move over on Easy Street."
"Oh, it's great!" murmured the delighted girl. "Don't you think so, Matt? I just knew dad would strike it, one of these days."
"We'll move back East, that's what we'll do," went on Chub, tramping excitedly around the kitchen; "we'll get right back to old Connecticut, where we came from, and dad will stop his crowhopping around these Arizona hills. Hoop-a-la! I'm so tickled I can't stand still. Ever feel like you was a brass band, Matt, an' had to toot? Well, that's me, right now! Where's Perk? The Old Joke ought to be around here and help us rejoice."