ain before the sun set on that memorable day.

"I forgot to tell you about the gold!" she exclaimed, her face paling.

"Gold!" ejaculated Neale.

"Yes. He buried it--there--under the biggest of the three trees
together. Near a rock! Oh, I can see him now!"

"Him! Who? Allie, what's this wild talk?"

She pressed his hand to enjoin silence.

"Listen! Horn had gold. How much I don't know. But it must have been
a great deal. He owned the caravan with which we left California. Horn
grew to like me. But he hated all the rest.... That night we ended
the awful ride! The wagons stalled!... The grayness of dawn--the
stillness--oh, I feel them now!... That terrible Indian yell rang
out. All my life I'll hear it!... Then Horn dug a hole. He buried his
gold.... And he said whoever escaped could have it. He had no hope."

"Allie, you're a mine of surprises. Buried gold! What next?"

"Neale, I wonder--did the Sioux find that gold?" she asked.

"It's not likely. There certainly wasn't any hole left open around that
place. I saw every inch of ground under those trees.... Allie, I'll go
there to-morrow and hunt for it."

"Let me go," she implored. "Ah! I forgot! No--no!... There must be my
mother's grave."

"Yes, it's there. I saw. I will mark it.... Allie, how glad I am that
you can speak of her--of her past--her grave there without weakening.
You are brave! But forget... Allie, if I find that gold it'll be yours."

"No. Yours."

"But I wasn't one of the caravan. He did not give it to any outsider.
You escaped. Therefore it will belong to you."

"Dearest, I am yours."

Next day, without acquainting Slingerland or Larry with his purpose,
Neale rode down the valley trail.

He expected the road to cross the old St. Vrain and Laramie Trail,
but if it did cross he could not find the place. It was easy to lose
bearings in these hills. Neale had to abandon the hunt for that day,
and turning back, with some annoyance at his failure, he decided that it
would be best to take Larry and Slingerland into his confidence.

Allie was waiting for him at the brook ford.

"Oh, it was gone!" she cried.

"Allie, I couldn't find the place. Come, ride back and let me walk
beside you.... We'll have fun telling Larry and Slingerland."

"Neale, let me tell them," she begged.

"Go ahead. Make a strong story. Larry always had leanings toward
gold-strikes."

And that night, after supper, when the log fire had begun to blaze,
and all were