Louis. We had the documents to prove it, but
they were stolen by the very gang who drove the boys away. Even that
doesn't matter, though, for they found it, stake and all, and----"

"What did you say the name is?" demanded half a score of voices.

"The Golden West."

"Fetch the woman," cried the voices, now; and the demand rose to a
clamor: "Fetch the woman."

The crowd laughed and jostled expectantly; and presently they parted,
to give passage to a young woman, ceremoniously conducted by two of the
miners, their hats off. And who should follow her, but Mr. Motte--the
young man who had been left behind at Panama!

"Strangers," announced the red-shirted spokesman for the camp, to Mr.
Adams, "if you've found the Golden West, here's the owner of it, an' I
reckon she'll thank you for your trouble. The hull camp's' back of
her, so you'd better talk peaceable. Ain't that so, boys?"

"You bet!" came the resounding cheer.

"Well, if that's the case, of course----" said Mr. Adams, uncertainly,
removing his hat, while the young woman, in sunbonnet and neat calico
dress, appeared much embarrassed. Charley and Billy stood with mouth
open at the unexpected turn of events. But Mr. Motte pressed forward,
extending glad hand.

"Hello," spoke Mr. Adams. "How'd you get here?" He shook hands with
Mr. Motte, and so did Charley, and so did Billy, although he didn't
know exactly why.

"Yes, sir, here I am, thanks to your ticket. And here's my wife, too.
This is the gentleman who gave me the ticket from Panama, Mary."

"Hooray!" cheered the ready miners.

"How long have you been here?" asked Mr. Adams.

"Two or three days. I've been laid up (and indeed he looked thin), but
I'm all right now. The camp's been mighty kind to us. They tell me
you've found the Golden West quartz claim. Is that so?"

"Yes, sir. These boys found it; three rascals who have dogged us from
New Orleans (one of them clear from St. Louis), have jumped it. Now I
understand you or your wife have prior rights to it. How about that,
sir?"

"To tell the truth, I think that probably we have," answered Mr. Motte;
"but you shan't lose out, anyway. Not after you helped me along the
way you did, with that ticket. No, sir. Shall he, Mary?" And the
young woman shook her head. Mr. Motte continued, while the camp
listened intently. "As I've explained to these men my uncle--or my
wife's uncle, rather, whose name was Tom Jones--wrote us a letter la