"Come, Steve. The miners made their last camp over yonder. I can see a wagon-wheel sticking up."
A quick gallop brought them to all that was left of that second wagon. It had burnt better than the other, but had not been completely consumed.
"Nothing left in it."
"If there had been, the Apaches would be here now instead of over yonder. I declare!"
He sprung from his pony, and rushed toward the one hind-wheel which was still upheld by what was left of its broken axle, and by a part of the wagon bottom.
"What is it, Murray?"
"Wait a moment."
Steve too was on foot, just as the old man gave that wheel a jerk that dragged it several feet from its place.
"Look there, Steve!"
"Buckskin bags—some of them half burnt. What is that, Murray, in the ashes? Is it gold?"