ditions--a wild, free, independent sort of a life that
quickly brought to the surface the real character of each individual.

Such, then, was the California of 1849, the California of Thure and Bud;
and such were the conditions of the life, the wild romantic life of the
wilderness mining camps, toward which we left our young friends
hastening, their unwilling pack-horses pulling and tugging on the ropes
which were dragging them away from the home-pastures, when we rode a
little way on the homeward journey with Iola and Ruth.

Now, to return to Thure and Bud.

The Conroyal rancho was situated in the Lower Sacramento Valley, some
two-days' journey from Sutter's Fort, near which the City of Sacramento
on the Sacramento River had sprung into a sudden and marvelous
existence; and, as Sacramento City was then the final rendezvous of all
those bound for the mines, some forty miles in the wilderness of
mountains to the east, Thure and Bud, naturally, had headed straight for
this town, intending, when there, to find someone going to Hangtown,
with whom they might journey to this mining camp, where they hoped to
find their fathers and their friends. Both boys were well acquainted
with the trail to Sutter's Fort, having been there frequently with their
fathers; and, since Sacramento City was only a couple of miles or so
from Sutter's Fort, they would have no difficulty in finding their way
thither. The trail, for the greater part of the distance, ran through
beautiful valleys and over low-lying hills, where nature still reigned
unfretted by man and where a human being was seldom seen, consequently
Thure and Bud expected to have a lonely ride to Sacramento City.

For some little while after the departure of the two girls neither boy
spoke. Somehow they did not feel like talking, not even about the
wonderful Cave of Gold, nor the skin map, nor the death of the old
miner. They were thinking of home and the dear ones from whom they had
parted for they knew not how long; and, when boys are thinking deeply of
such things, they do not like talking. But, gloom and sadness cannot
long conquer the spirits of any normal boy; and, at the end of an hour's
riding they were their own lively and talkative selves again.

"I wonder if we can make our old camping-ground to-night?" Thure
questioned doubtfully, as they came to a halt, a little before noon, on
the top of a steep ridge to give their horses a short rest. "If I
remember right, this ri