ybody. The horsemen
encumbered by pack-animals were to push on as rapidly as possible in
order to reach by nightfall the settlement where dwelt the Italian
friend. Once there they could feel themselves reasonably safe. Johnny,
Missouri Jones and I would ride with them until noon as a sort of escort
for the uninhabited portion of the journey. By that hour we figured we
should have reached the outskirts of the regular diggings, where, our
experience told us, our companions would be safe.

Accordingly we pushed our mounts hard. Unhampered by pack-animals, and
aided by knowledge of the route, we made great progress. By noon we had
passed the meadow of our night's camp. After a hasty lunch we
accompanied our men a few miles farther, then said farewell and
godspeed, and hurried back in order to reach home before sunset.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE ROBBERY

We cooked ourselves a meal, and built ourselves a fire. About midnight
we heard the sounds of horses rapidly approaching. Immediately we leaped
from our bunks and seized our rifles, peering anxiously into the
darkness. A moment later, however, we were reassured by a shrill whistle
peculiar to Buck Barry, and a moment later he and Don Gaspar rode into
camp.

We assailed them with a storm of questions--why had they returned? what
had happened? where was Yank? had there been an accident?

Don Gaspar, who appeared very weary and depressed, shook his head sadly.
Barry looked at us savagely from beneath his brows.

"The gold is gone; and that's an end of it!" he growled.

At these words a careful, dead silence fell on us all. The situation had
suddenly become too serious for hasty treatment. We felt instinctively
that a wrong word might do irreparable damage. But in our hearts
suspicion and anger and dull hatred leaped to life full grown. We
tightened our belts, as it were, and clamped our elbows to our sides,
and became wary, watching with unfriendly eyes. Johnny alone opened his
lips.

"Lost? I don't believe it!" he cried.

Barry cast an ugly look at him, but said nothing. We all saw that look.

"Where's Yank?" I asked.

"Dead by now, I suppose," flung back Barry.

"Good God!" I cried; and under my breath, "Then you've murdered him!"

I don't know whether Barry heard me or not, and at the time I did not
much care. His sullen eye was resting on one after the other of us as we
stood there in the firelight. Every face was angry and suspicious. Barry
flung himself