ms to be a gallery leading off to no one knows where,"
replied Dick, pointing to a gloomy hole. "Come on, boys, I haven't seen
any gold yet," and he waved his candle to and fro. It flickered over the
rocky walls of the mine. They glistened with water that oozed from many
crevices, but there was no glitter of the precious metal.

The boys walked cautiously along the gallery, or tunnel, that extended
at right angles to the perpendicular shaft. Suddenly, Dick, who was in
the lead, stopped short.

"Hush!" he exclaimed, in a whisper. "I hear voices."

The boys listened. From somewhere in the darkness ahead of them came an
indistinct murmur.

"Come ahead, easy!" whispered the millionaire's son.

They advanced on tiptoes. The murmur of voices became louder. Then, as
the boys made a turn in the tunnel, a strange scene was suddenly
presented to them.

In a sort of cave, formed by the widening of the gallery, a number of
men stood in a group. Several torches, stuck into cracks in the rocky
wall, gave light. But, strangest of all, was the occupation of the men.

One of them was stirring what seemed like a mass of mortar in a wooden
box, such as masons use. Into it another was pouring from a sack,
gleaming, golden, yellow particles, which, as the light gleamed on them,
glittered like gold.

"Seems like throwing the yellow stuff away," remarked the man who held
the sack.

"What of it. We'll get it back five times over," replied the one who,
with a hoe, was stirring the stuff. "It's like planting gold in a
garden. It grows, you know. This mine is our garden."

"They're 'salting' the mine," whispered Dick to his companions.

Off to one side another man was drilling holes in the soft rock. The
musical clink of his hammer on the drill sounded faint and far off, so
muffled was it.

"Haven't you got that stuff ready yet?" called the man with the drill.
"I've got all the holes bored. Hurry up and get it in or it won't be
hard by to-morrow, and there's no telling when that Hamilton kid may
take a notion to drop in and visit his mine," and he laughed.

"Oh, I guess I can keep him away for a few days yet," answered one, whom
Dick recognized as Forty-niner Smith. "I've got a game I haven't played.
But I guess this stuff is mixed enough. Say, it's the best scheme I've
struck yet for 'sweating' a mine. Beats the shotguns all to pieces."

From their hiding place the boys watched what the men did. The mixture
with the gold particl