was a buzzing in
his ears. His knees gave way beneath him. He stumbled and fell. He was
still conscious, but he knew he was very ill--if only he could call
Branigan.

Suddenly his ear caught an unfamiliar sound. Instinctively, ill as he
was, he started up. It was the sound of human voices. With difficulty
he raised himself on one elbow. A party of hunters and Indians were
coming in his direction. Some were carrying a stretcher formed with
rifles and the branches of trees.

"Gold! Gold!" they shouted wildly, as they ran toward him.

Half a dozen trappers crowded round John's prostrate form. On the
stretcher lay Bill Branigan, asleep. The leader of the party, a big,
muscular chap, with a great blond beard, pushed a whiskey flask between
Madison's clenched teeth.

"Poor devil!" he exclaimed. "We're just in time. He was about all in."
Addressing Madison, who, with eyes starting from his head, stared up at
the newcomers with amazement, as if they were phantoms from another
world, he said:

"We picked your mate up yonder in the mountains. He's found the biggest
gold nugget ever found in this section. There's gold everywhere."

"Damn the gold! Give me some food!" gasped Madison.

Then he fainted.

CHAPTER XV.

The Pomona, on West ---- Street, was well known among those swell
apartment houses of Manhattan which find it profitable to cater to the
liberal-spending demi-monde, and therefore are not prone to be too
fastidious regarding the morals of their tenants. Many such hostelries
were scattered throughout the theatre district of New York, and as a
rule they prospered exceedingly well. Invariably they were of the same
type. There was the same monotonous sameness in the gaudy decorations
and furnishings; the same hilarious crowd in the cafe downstairs; the
same overdressed, over-rouged women in the elevator and halls. They
enjoyed in common the same class of patronage--blonde ladies with
lengthy visiting-lists of gentlemen callers.

Willard Brockton occupied a suite on the sixth floor, and it was one of
the handsomest and most expensive in the hotel. It consisted of ten
large rooms and three baths. The large sitting-room in white and gold
had two windows overlooking fashionable Fifth Avenue. The furnishings
were expensive and rich, but lacked that good taste which would
naturally obtain in rooms occupied by people a little more particular
concerning their reputation and mode of life. At one end of the room