ly a short time to do this, and within half an hour from the
time that their leader had so startled them by his strange appearance,
the outlaws were ready to take the trail for Cloudy Mountain. One
comprehensive glance the pseudo-American--and he certainly looked the
part--shot at his picturesque, if rough-looking followers, not a few of
whom showed red bandannas under their sombreros or around their necks--
and then with a satisfied expression on his face--for he had a leader's
pride in his men--he gave the signal and led the way along and down the
steep trail from the tableland. And as from time to time he glanced back
over his shoulders to where the men were coming along in single file, he
could see that in every eye was a glint of exultation at the prospect of
booty.

After they had gone about three miles they crossed the black ravine, and
from there they began to ascend. Up and up they went, the path very hard
on the horses, until finally they came to the top of a pass where it
had been arranged that the band should await further instructions, none
going on further save the two leaders. Here, saddle-girths and guns
were inspected, the last orders given, and with a wave of the hand in
response to the muttered wishes of good luck, Johnson,--for as such
he will be known from this time on,--followed by Castro, made his way
through the forest towards Cloudy Mountain.

For an hour or so Johnson rode along in that direction, checking the
speed of his horse every time the sun came into view and showed that
there was yet some time before sunset. Presently, he made a sign to
Castro to take the lead, for he had never been in this locality before,
and was relying on his subordinate to find a spot from which he could
reconnoitre the scene of the proposed raid without the slightest danger
of meeting any of the miners.

At a very sharp turn of the road to the left Castro struck off through
the forest to the right and, within a few minutes, reached a place where
the trees had thinned out and were replaced by the few scrubs that grew
in a spot almost barren. A minute or so more and the two men, their
horses tied, were able to get an uninterrupted view of Cloudy Mountain.

The scene before them was one of grandeur. Day was giving place to
night, fall to winter, and yet at this hour all the winds were stilled.
In the distance gleamed the snow-capped Sierras, range after range as
far as the eye could see to the northwest; in the op