They had then gone on to the Dead Hope mine. He had, in Mexico City, left the man who sold him the half-interest in the mine.
With bated breath she disclosed his identity.
“It was Mort Beecher!” she said.
“Great grief!” gasped Nicky. “I’ll—wait till I see him——”
“Sh-h-h!” she warned. “He went off with the money father paid him and I guess he spent it in wild parties. But let me tell you the rest.
“The first night we were at the Good Hope mine house we were waked up by horses galloping, guns firing, men yelling. Father looked out and said it was bandits making an attack.”
“There was gold dust there,” Tom interrupted. She nodded and went on.
“Father got his gun and told me to stay quiet and not to leave the shack. He had to go to help the mine people. The mine was part of the property of the firm he was paid by, you see.”
“And he left you alone?” Nicky was surprised.
“Only while he helped drive off the bandits. He thought they would be frightened away. But——” she wiped her eyes on her sleeve, for there were no handkerchiefs in that primitive place, “Father—didn’t—come—back—ever!”