er's mine before he went home this time. He slipped away
unobserved and took the lower trail, which followed up to the remains of
the second bridge, then climbed to the tumbled-down cabin they had found
the first day. Here he took the trail that led far up into the timber.
Finally he saw far up above him what appeared to be an old mine dump.
Quickly he clambered up over rocks and rotting logs toward it, and
in a few moments he stood on the dump itself, which was of hard black
stone, with the exception of just a little quartz. He was sure it was the
same kind of stone he had seen on the old mantle at his grandfather's.
The quartz was apparently the last stone dumped.

At one side stood an old mine shaft, perhaps fifty feet deep, with an
ancient hand-made windlass still at the top. Then just to one side and
entering the mountain was a great log door, put together with bolts. The
lock was a strong powder-house lock, made of heavy brass. The place gave
no appearance of having seen a man in many years. The hinges and hasp
on the great door were heavily corroded, and an old metal wheelbarrow lay
on the dump, rusted red. A tin sign fastened to a tree at the side of the
tunnel had become a target for expert gunners. Willis tried the door, but
could not force it a particle. Turning, he stood looking off into the
canyon toward Cheyenne. "So this is the spot," he mused; "and it has
never been touched in these ten years. Poor old daddy, poor old daddy!"
He leaned heavily against the log door, and his thoughts came thick and
fast, only to conclude, as they always did, with, "Where is Tad Kieser
and why does my uncle try to keep me away from this spot?"

He was standing where his father had stood many times, and the boy seemed
to be very conscious of his presence just then. He wondered if, perhaps,
there had not been something of just love for the place itself, as well
as for the gold, which had drawn his father there so irresistibly. Such a
spot for a long, quiet visit with one's self! Below him the stream and
the little cabin; to one side, and a little farther up, the beautiful
falls, with Cookstove in the background; to the other side the park, all
resplendent in yellow leaves, with here and there a tall pine standing
like a green island in a sea of gently-moving gold. Far away over the
ridge was the blue outline of Cheyenne with its stage road creeping round
the base. He sat down to rest and to think. He was suddenly awakened from