"Then look here, boys," continued the Right Bower with superstitious
exultation; "it was the _slide_ that tumbled into the creek, overflowed
it, and helped _us_ clear out the race!"
It seemed so clear that Providence had taken the partners of the Lone
Star directly in hand that they faced the toilsome ascent of the
mountain with the assurance of conquerors. They paused only on the
summit to allow the Old Man to lead the way to the slope that held
their treasure. He advanced cautiously to the edge of the crumbling
cliff, stopped, looked bewildered, advanced again, and then remained
white and immovable. In an instant the Right Bower was at his side.
"Is anything the matter? Don't--don't look so, Old Man, for God's
sake!"
The Old Man pointed to the dull, smooth, black side of the mountain,
without a crag, break, or protuberance, and said with ashen lips:
"It's gone!"
* * * * *
And it was gone! A _second_ slide had taken place, stripping the flank
of the mountain, and burying the treasure and the weak implement that
had marked its side deep under a chaos of rock and debris at its base.
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