opped one night to camp,
when Creedon said:

"In the morning we will be on the ground."

The place where they were camped was a mountain glen, and our young
friend Desmond, being in splendid health, was exceedingly happy. The
life thus far had been one of constant excitement, and therefore at his
age one of continuous enjoyment, and besides, to crown all, he was
comparatively rich. As intimated, Creedon had valued the dust at ten
thousand dollars, and when it should be turned into money Desmond could
indeed clear his mother's farm and go to school, and then to college,
and it was his highest ambition to obtain a fine education. He was an
ambitious lad.

Creedon was restless and excited all the evening; for him a great
decision was to be rendered. He had come to know that Brooks was indeed
an expert, and should the latter decide that his claim was of value it
meant that for which he had been struggling a long time, as he had said,
for fifteen years.

Creedon did not sleep; much danger would not have kept him awake, but
the possibilities of the dawning day did cause exceeding restlessness.
Desmond noticed that the woodsman did not sleep and went over and sat
near him.

"What's the matter, lad; why don't you sleep?"

"Why don't you sleep?"

"To tell the truth, I can't."

"Neither can I."

"I don't see what keeps you awake."

"The possibilities of the coming day."

Creedon was in a thoughtful mood, and Desmond asked:

"Why are you so anxious to get rich?"

"Lad, I'll tell you: I am thirty-three years old; I started from home
when I was less than eighteen; my father was a poor man. Living in our
town was a rich man who had a lovely daughter; she was just fifteen. I
had known her from the time we were wee little tots, and we fell in love
with each other, although she was fifteen and I but a little past
seventeen, but her father was rich; he despised low people, and that
girl and I agreed that I was to leave home, go into the world and earn a
fortune, and go back and claim her. We made a solemn agreement, pledged
ourselves under the stars, she was to wait for me even if I did not
return until I was a gray-haired man. Boy, she is waiting yet; she is a
handsome woman now--I have her photograph--and once a year I receive a
letter from her. She has urged me to return; her father is dead and she
has a competency in her own right, but I am not willing to go home,
marry her and live on her money; and besides, I want