were of
almost ebon blackness, and glistened in the sunlight as if smeared with
oil. Between those two shoulders rose a cathedral-like spire of rock and
snow that seemed to tip the white fleece of the clouds.

MacDonald did not turn when he spoke. His voice was deep and vibrant with
an intense emotion. Yet he was not excited.

"I've been hunting for that mount'in for forty years, Johnny!"

"Mac!"

Aldous leaned over and laid a hand on the old mountaineer's shoulder. Still
MacDonald did not look at him.

"Forty years," he repeated, as if speaking to himself. "I see how I missed
it now, just as DeBar said. I hunted from the west, an' on that side the
mount'in ain't black. We must have crossed this valley an' come in from the
east forty years ago, Johnny----"

He turned now, and what Joanne and Aldous saw in his face was not grief; it
was not the sorrow of one drawing near to his beloved dead, but a joy that
had transfigured him. The fire and strength of the youth in which he had
first looked upon this valley with Jane at his side burned again in the
sunken eyes of Donald MacDonald. After forty years he had come into his
own. Somewhere very near was the cavern with the soft white floor of sand,
and for a moment Aldous fancied that he could hear the beating of
MacDonald's heart, while from Joanne's tender bosom there rose a deep,
sobbing breath of understanding.

And MacDonald, facing the mountain again, pointed with a long, gaunt arm,
and said:

"We're almost there, Johnny. God ha' mercy on them if they've beat us out!"

CHAPTER XXVI

They rode on into the Valley of Gold. Again MacDonald took the lead, and he
rode straight into the face of the black mountain. Aldous no longer made an
effort to keep Joanne in ignorance of what might be ahead of them. He put a
sixth cartridge into the chamber of his rifle, and carried the weapon
across the pommel of his saddle. He explained to her now why they were
riding behind--that if their enemies were laying in wait for them,
MacDonald, alone, could make a swift retreat. Joanne asked no questions.
Her lips were set tight. She was pale.

At the end of three quarters of an hour it seemed to them that MacDonald
was riding directly into the face of a wall of rock. Then he swung sharply
to the left, and disappeared. When they came to the point where he had
turned they found that he had entered a concealed break in the mountain--a
chasm with walls that rose almost perpen