odeled from the old San Ysidro, the
bare and grassless Mexican _plaza_ changed to the square of a Kansas
town, by tree and hard-won turf; blacksmith shop and school, with a
little store and post office, clustered for company on one side:
business would fill up the three blank sides--like Columbus or
Cherryvale. For there is no new thing beneath the kindly sun. Not
otherwise, far from the plains of windy Troy, did Priam's son build
and copy, in the wild hills of Epirus:

_The little Troy, the castle Pergamus,
The river Xanthus, and the Scaean gate._

Fringing the townlet, new gristmill and new factory stood where the
mother ditch was bridged. Beyond the bridge the roads forked. From the
right hand a steep canyon came plunging to the valley, winding dark
between red-brown hills. This canyon was Redgate; here turned the
climbing road to Upham; and Adam Forbes followed the Redgate road.

At the summit he turned to the left across a corner of MacCleod's
Park; he crossed a whorl of low ridges at the head of Apache Canyon and
came to Hidden Tanks--a little limestone basin, now brimming with
rainwater, perhaps a dozen barrels in all. Adam had fenced this in
with a combination of stone wall and cedar brush, to keep cattle out.
He now climbed to a little low cliff near by. There he had cached his
outfit in a little cupboard of a cave, the floor of it shoulder high
to him where he stood. Here he unpacked. He added to the cache his
little store of sugar, coffee, rice, bacon and flour, all packed in
five or ten pound baking-powder cans against the ravages of mice, gray
squirrels and trade rats. The little deep cave gave protection against
larger pests and shelter from rain. He rolled up his bedding, lifted
it into the mouth of the cave and shoved it back.

Two empty five-gallon kegs were left of his pack; he had not dared to
leave them in the cache, to fall apart in the dry and sun-parched air.
These kegs he filled at the tanks and slung on the pack saddle; with
them he made his way to the hill of his hopes. It was close by; he had
hidden there his pick, shovel and the broad shallow basin used for
panning gold. He hobbled the horses; by ten o'clock, or a little
later, he was deep in the interrupted task of a month before.

Freakish chance had timed that interruption to halt him on the very
brink of success. Before he had taken out a dozen pans he was in rich
dirt. Noon found him shaken from the poise and mastery of ye