tion of the puzzle was ingenious, but as we know he erred in two
respects. Bill Crane had not filled the bag with sand and thrown it away
from prudential considerations, nor had he profited by the theft he had
committed. He had been as badly outwitted as his victim, and the profit
had gone to the bland and obliging Chinamen, who had thus far escaped
suspicion.

John Miles slackened his rein, and thought seriously and sadly of the
position to which he was reduced. What was he to do? He was, in the
expressive language of the country, "cleaned out," and brought to a pass
where he must begin life over again, with the disadvantage of being
seventy-five dollars in debt, for he was resolved that Tom's loss should
be paid back to the uttermost penny.

Presently philosophy came to his aid.

"It might have been worse," he reflected. "Two hundred dollars is too
large a sum to lose, but it wont take long to make up if I have any sort
of luck. I wish I were in San Francisco. It may trouble me to get there
without means."

When misfortune comes it is always best to look it manfully in the face,
and not to shrink from or over estimate it. John Miles had a strong,
healthy nature, with a good deal of confidence in his own resources, and
in an hour or two he was again looking hopefully forward to the future.
Not that he cherished a hope of recovering his lost money. There seemed
to be no way of identifying it, even if he should track the thief. One
ounce of gold-dust looks like another, and there is no way of
distinguishing individual property in that form.

John Miles pushed on slowly. About noon he found himself threading a
narrow canon, shaded by gigantic redwood tress, with steep, almost
perpendicular sides, with here and there a narrow streamlet descending
in a cascade, and lighting up the darkened scene with its silvery
reflections.

"This is a pretty spot, but it would be lonely to live here," thought
Miles. "Yet," shading his eyes, "there seems to be a cabin of some sort.
Is it possible that anybody lives in this canon?"

Ten minutes' ride brought him to a rude cabin, with a gigantic tree
spreading at a great height protecting branches over it. That it was
inhabited was clear, for in front of it stood a strongly built, robust
woman, who seemed to be nearing forty.

She bent a searching look upon the intruder, who bent his head
courteously.

"Good-morning, ma'am," said Miles.

"Good-morning, stranger," was the reply.