r of the empty house to the left."

"Well, let us hope that nobody does come out," said I. "Come on, now,
Joe. Let's get back. It's going to rain pretty soon."

"Yes; your father was right when he predicted more rain. It's going to
be a biggish one, I should think. How dark it is! I don't wonder people
find a difficulty in telling which house is which when all the lights
are out. Here it comes now. Step out, Phil."

As he spoke, a blast of wind from the mountains struck us, and a few
needles of cold rain beat against our right cheeks.

We were soon inside again, when, having shut our door, we sat down to a
game of checkers, in which we became so absorbed that we failed to note
the lapse of time until Tom's dollar clock, hanging on the wall, banged
out the hour of ten.

"To bed, Joe!" I cried, springing out of my chair. "Why, we haven't been
up so late for weeks."

Stepping into the back room, we soon had mattress and blankets spread
upon the floor, when, quickly undressing, I crept into bed, while Joe,
returning to the front room, blew out the light.

Five minutes later we were both asleep, with a comfortable consciousness
that we had done a good evening's work; though we little suspected how
good an evening's work it really was. For it is hardly too much to say
that had we _not_ put in Tom's second window that night we might both
have been dead before morning.

CHAPTER XII

TOM CONNOR'S SCARE

When Long John Butterfield (it was Yetmore himself who told us all this
long afterwards) when Long John, returning from his day's prospecting up
among the foot-hills of Mount Lincoln, had related to his employer the
result of his labors, two conclusions instantly presented themselves to
the worthy mayor of Sulphide. A man less acute than Yetmore would have
understood at once that we had discovered the nature of the black sand
in the pool, and that just as he had sent out Long John, so my father
had sent out us boys to determine, if possible, which stream it was that
had brought down the powdered galena.

Moreover, knowing my father as he did--whose opinions on prospecting as
a business were no secret in the community--Yetmore was sure that it was
in the interest of Tom Connor we had been sent out; and it was equally
plain to him that, such being the case, Tom's information on the
subject would be just as good as his own. He was, of course, unaware
that our information was in reality a good deal better than hi