“I haven’t seen him since morning. We followed your directions, and took opposite sides of the river.”
“Then he will meet you tonight at the old log hut?”
“That’s our arrangement. But how are we to get out of this box-canyon?”
“I can show you an easier way out than the toboggan slide by which you came in,” replied the Major, smiling. “At the same time I think I should prefer to follow your tracks, so that in the future I may know this second means of access. I am afraid the secret of this little sequestered valley can be no longer kept from the world. I presume you are going to stake out a claim and record it.”
“You bet,” laughed Roderick. “There’s no sentiment about sequestered valleys or happy retreats in my make-up. Great Scott, there’s a cool million dollars of gold lying around right here. I’m going to take no chances of the next man finding the spot. Isn’t that common sense, Major?”
“No doubt,” replied Buell Hampton, “it is common sense in your case. And you are obviously following your father’s bidding in making the fullest and the best use of the wealth he tried so long in vain to rediscover. Are you familiar with the regulations as to staking out a claim?”
“Oh, yes, I’ve posted myself on all that.”
“Well, choose your ground, and I’ll whittle your stakes.” He rose and again unsheathed his hunting knife.
“Major,” cried Roderick, “along this old channel there’s at least three men’s ground. We’ll stake for you and for me and for Grant Jones.”
“But Grant Jones must have been on his claim before he can file on it. That’s the law.”