ndeed
he would have assumed that position if it had not been accorded to him,
for he was made of that stuff which produces either heroes of the
highest type or scoundrels of the deepest dye. He arranged that the
pursuers should proceed in a body to the mouth of the valley, and there,
dividing into several parties, scatter themselves abroad until they
should find the thief's trail and then follow it up. As the miners were
not much accustomed to following trails, they engaged the services of
several Indians who chanced to be at the camp at that time.

"What direction d'ye think it's likely your precious chum has taken?"
asked Gashford, turning abruptly to Fred Westly when the different
parties were about to start.

"It is impossible for me to tell."

"I know that," retorted Gashford, with a scowl and something of a sneer,
"but it ain't impossible for you to guess. However, it will do as well
if you tell me which party you intend to join."

"I shall join that which goes to the south-west," replied Westly.

"Well, then, _I_ will join that which goes to the south-east," returned
the bully, shouldering his rifle. "Go ahead, you red reptile," he
added, giving a sign to the Indian at the head of the party he had
selected to lead.

The Indian at once went off at a swinging walk, amounting almost to a
trot. The others followed suit and the forest soon swallowed them all
in its dark embrace.

In making this selection Gashford had fallen into a mistake not uncommon
among scoundrels--that of judging other men by themselves. He knew that
Westly was fond of his guilty friend, and concluded that he would tell
any falsehood or put the pursuers on any false scent that might favour
his escape. He also guessed--and he was fond of guessing--that Fred
would answer his question by indicating the direction which he thought
it most probable his friend had _not_ taken. In these guesses he was
only to a small extent right. Westly did indeed earnestly hope that his
friend would escape; for he deemed the intended punishment of death most
unjustly severe, and, knowing intimately the character and tendencies of
Tom Brixton's mind and tastes, he had a pretty shrewd guess as to the
direction he had taken, but, so far from desiring to throw the pursuers
off the scent his main anxiety was to join the party which he thought
most likely to find the fugitive--if they should find him at all--in
order that he might be present to defend him fr