amount was so scanty that we could not be sure it was really the
black sand we were seeking.

Going on up this branch creek, much impeded by the snow which became
deeper and deeper the higher we ascended, we were nearing one of the
bends when Joe, who was in advance, suddenly stopped, exclaiming:

"Look there, Phil! Tracks coming down the bank. Somebody is ahead of
us."

"So there is," said I. "What can he be doing, I wonder?"

Following these tracks a short distance, we very soon discovered the
reason for their being there. The man was on the same quest as
ourselves!

In a bend of the stream where the snow lay two feet thick, he had dug a
hole down to the sand, and then through the sand itself to bed-rock. At
the bottom of the hole was a little black sand, showing the marks of a
hatchet or knife-blade where it had been gouged out, but all around the
hole, between the bed-rock and the yellow sand above, was a black line
an inch thick, composed of the shiny, powdered galena ore. There could
be no doubt that the man ahead of us was hunting the same game as we
were.

"Do you suppose it's Yetmore, Joe?" said I.

"No," Joe answered, emphatically, "I'm sure it isn't. Look at his
tracks: they are bigger than mine."

"It can't be Tom, himself, can it?"

"No, I'm pretty sure it isn't Tom either. Tom is a big, powerful fellow,
all right, but he's not more than five feet ten, while this man, I
think, is extra-tall--see the length of his stride where he came down
the bank. Whoever he is, though, Phil, he's an experienced prospector.
He hasn't wasted his time, as we have, trying unlikely places, but has
chosen this spot and gone slap down through snow and everything, just as
if he knew that the black sand would be found at the bottom."

"That's true," said I. "I wonder who it is. We must find out if we can,
Joe, so that we may be able to tell Tom who his competitor is. Let's
follow his tracks."

Getting out of the creek-bed again, we walked along the bank for nearly
a mile, until Joe, stopping short, held up his finger.

"Hark!" he whispered. "Somebody chopping."

There was a sound as of metal being struck against stone somewhere ahead
of us, so on we went again, making as little noise as possible, until
presently Joe stopped again, and pointing forward, said softly, "There
he is, look!"

The man was down in the creek-bed again, and all we could see of him
above the bank was his hat. We therefore went forward once