t had increased
at all. The intake must be either high on the mountain, or, as I had
suggested, the spring must come up through the sandstone underlying the
Second Mesa and was therefore not affected by the running off of the
snow-water on the surface.

As the town of Sulphide was so situated that its inhabitants could not
see Mount Lincoln on account of a big spur of Elkhorn Mountain which cut
off their view, any one in that town wishing to find out how the snow
was going off on the former mountain was obliged to ride down in our
direction about three miles in order to get a sight of it.

Tom Connor, having neither the time to spare nor the money to spend on
horse-hire, could not do this for himself, but, knowing that the
mountain was visible to us any day and all day, he had requested us to
notify him when the foot-hills began to get bare. This time had now
arrived--it was then towards the end of March--and my father
consequently wrote to Tom, telling him so; at the same time inviting him
to come down to us and make his start from the ranch whenever he was
ready.

To our great surprise, we received a reply from him next afternoon,
brought down by young Seth Appleby, the widow Appleby's ten-year-old
boy, in which he stated that he could not start just yet as he was out
of funds, but that he was hoping to raise one hundred and fifty dollars
by a mortgage on his little house, which would be all he would need, and
more, to keep him going for the summer.

"Why, what's the meaning of this!" exclaimed my father, when he had read
the letter. "How does Tom come to be out of funds at this time of year?
He's been at work all winter at high wages and he ought to have saved up
quite a tidy sum--in fact, he was counting on doing so. What's the
matter, I wonder? Did he tell you anything about it, Seth?"

"No," replied the youngster, "he didn't tell me, but he did tell mother,
and then mother, she asked all the miners who come to our store, and
they told her all about it. It was mother that sent me down with the
letter, and she told me I was to be sure and 'splain all about it to
you."

"That was kind of Mrs. Appleby," said my father. "But come in, Seth, and
have something to eat, and then you can give us your mother's message."

Seated at the table, with a big loaf, a plate of honey and a pitcher of
milk before him, young Seth, after he had taken off the fine edge of a
remarkably healthy appetite, related to us between bites