down and bring
up one of the ponies. I can probably get upon his back with your help,
and then, by going carefully, I believe we can get down."

"All right," said Joe, springing to his feet. "We'll try it. I'll go
down. The little gray is the one, Phil, don't you think?"

"Yes," I answered. "The little gray's the one; he's more sober-minded
than my pony and very sure-footed. Bring the gray."

Without further parley, away went Joe, and in about three-quarters of an
hour he appeared again, leading the pony by the bridle.

"It's pretty rough going," said he, "but I think we can make it if we
take it slowly. The pony came up very well. Now, Peter let's see if we
can hoist you into the saddle."

It was a difficult piece of work, for Peter, though he had not an ounce
of fat on his body, was a pretty heavy man, and being almost helpless
himself, the feat was not accomplished without one or two involuntary
groans on the part of the patient. At last, however, we had him settled
into the saddle, when Joe, carrying the rifle, took the lead, while I,
with the two shovels over my shoulder, brought up the rear. In this
order the procession started, but it had no more than started when Peter
called to us to stop.

In order to avoid going up the hill more than was necessary, we were
skirting along the edge of the great snow-bank, when, as we passed just
beneath the big tree upon one of whose roots Socrates was perched,
Peter, looking up to call to the bird, espied something which at once
attracted his attention.

"Wait a moment, boys, will you?" he requested, checking the pony; and
then, turning to me, he continued: "Look up there, Phil. Do you see that
black stone stuck among the roots? Poke it out with the shovel, will
you? I should like to look at it."

Wondering rather at his taking any interest in stones at such a time, I
nevertheless obeyed his behest, and with two or three vigorous prods I
dislodged the black fragment, catching it in my hand as it fell; though
it was so unexpectedly heavy that I nearly let it drop.

"Ah!" exclaimed Peter, when I had handed it up to him. "Just what I
thought! This will interest Tom Connor."

"Why?" we both asked. "What is it?"

"A chunk of galena. Look! Do you see how it is made up of shining cubes
of some black mineral? Lead--lead and sulphur. There's a vein up there
somewhere."

"And the big tree, pushing its roots down into the vein, has brought
away a piece of it, eh?" asked J