ed "Since we found
the prof in that deserted, mining camp, and helped him file a location
on that mining claim, we're responsible for him, in a way. He need,
looking after, and we have't been on the job at all."

"After you disappeared mysteriously the other night," remarked Clancy,
"Mr. Bradlaugh had an idea that you had gone over to Gold Hill to see
the prof. Mr. Bradlaugh called up the Bristow Hotel, at the Hill, and
talked with Borrodaile. He said he hadn't seen you, on--"

"I know about that," Merry interrupted. "That was four days ago, and we
haven't seen Borrodaile nor had a word from him since. Honest, fellows,
I'm getting worried. Before we started out here this afternoon I asked
Mr. Bradlaugh to try and get the prof on the phone, and to ask him when
he intended coming back to Ophir. Until I hear from dad, in answer to
that letter I sent the night I was taken out to the Bar Z Ranch, I won't
know what we're expected to do with the prof. Meanwhile, we've got to
keep an eye on him. He's the sole owner of a rich mining claim, and he's
about as capable of looking after his interests as a blanket Indian."

"That's right," assented Clancy. "Borrodaile can tell you all about the
Jurassic Period, and can give you the complete history of the
Neanderthal man from A to Izizard, but I'll guarantee to sell him a gold
brick in five minutes. As for business--well, he doesn't know any more
about ordinary, everyday business than a--er--troglodyte, whatever that
is."

"My dream was about the professor," struck in Ballard.

Merry and Clancy turned at that and gave their chum some attention.

"Come over with it, Pink," said Frank. "There's nothing in the dream, of
course, but the fact that the professor figured in it proves you were
fretting a little on his account yourself."

"Well, it was like this," returned Ballard, glad that the opportunity
had finally come to relieve his mind. "I seemed to be back in that pile
of ruins that used to be Happenchance, the played-out mining camp. From
that claim of the professor's stretched a row of nuggets, clear from the
Picket Post Mountains to Gold Hill. They were big nuggets, too, running
all the way from one the size of my hat to a whole lot as big as a
washtub--"

"Whew!" grinned Clancy. "Go on, Pink; don't mind me."

"The nuggets," proceeded Ballard, frowning at Clancy, "were arranged
like stepping-stones--one here, another a few feet beyond, and another
beyond that, and so on."