her, but something struck me that it would be
only fair to let Bigley go, as he had made the discovery, so I told him
to go first.

He would not, though, and we went up to the cottage together, to find
Kicksey kicking up a dust in the parlour with a broom.

"Is father up yet?" I cried.

"Yes, my dear, hours ago, and half-way to Barnstaple before now."

"What!" I cried.

"He's going to London, my dear, and here's a letter that Sam was to
bring over to you if you didn't come back to breakfast."

I tore open the letter and read it in a few moments.

It was very brief, and merely told me that he had had a letter the past
night making so stern a demand upon him for money that he had decided to
go up to London at once and sell the mine.

"Big," I said dolefully; "we've come too late. What shall we do?"

I gave him the letter to read, and he wrinkled up his brow.

"Go after him and catch him," he cried.

"Yes; but how?"

"I don't know," he panted; "let's try."

"But the silver?"

"Is locked up safely where we found it, lad," he cried. "It is a
secret. Come on."

"But how, Big? He is riding."

"Then we must walk. A man can walk down a horse. Now, let's see if it
can't be done by boys."

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.

TRYING AN IMPOSSIBILITY.

We two set out to perform an impossibility: for though, starting
together on a long journey, a good steady walker might tire out a horse
carrying a man, and in a fortnight's work, before we had got half-way to
Barnstaple, I knew that my father would have arranged to catch the
coach, and I remembered that the coach would change horses every ten or
twelve miles; and as all this forced itself into my mind, I sat down on
a stone by the road-side.

"Tired?" said Bigley, wiping the perspiration from his face.

"No, not yet; but I've been thinking, and my thoughts get heavier every
moment," I replied.

"What do you mean?" cried Bigley.

"That we cannot do this," I said; "and we should be doing something far
more sensible if we go back home, and write a letter to my father. Why,
it would get to him days before we could."

Bigley took off his cap and rubbed his ear.

"I'm afraid you are right," he said; "but I don't like to go back."

"Then let's go on to Barnstaple, and write to him from there."

"To be sure!" cried Bigley, jumping at the compromise. "Come along."

"No, I said; it will not do. I've left his letter behind, and I don't
know where to write."