“Gold!” murmured Elfreda Briggs. “Is this why they shot you, Mr. Petersen?”
“Yes, and for what’s in that diary. Mebby you’ve heard of Lost Mine, a dried-up water course that the Indians say many years ago was paved with gold.”
“Crazy prospectors like Sam Petersen have been hunting for that mine for more’n twenty-five years. Sam Petersen found it!” The man’s voice had dropped to a thrilling whisper. A dead silence followed, broken by the hoot of an owl near the cabin.
“It’s there in the book—all but how to get there. Hawk Murray and his gang found out that I’d got this bag of dust and nuggets. They knew I’d been prospecting for just what they’d been trying for a long time to find, and they believed I’d found it. Hawk and his bunch trailed me, and we had a shooting match. I downed one of the gang, but Hawk got me. Lady, I ain’t a bad man—I’m an honest man, but up here a man’s what he is, and if he ain’t able to shuffle for himself he’s all set to be shuffled off one day.”
“You are talking too much—exerting too much effort. Be quiet and rest,” commanded Elfreda.
“I got to talk. I got to talk fast. I ain’t got much more time. Write down in the book what I got to say. Ready?”
Miss Briggs nodded. “Lost River, north branch, Grandma and the Children, three peaks dead east—and there’s the bed of Lost River. In it is gold, shining gold, the promised land and—it’s yours. I ain’t got no family.”
“I don’t quite understand. Can you make it a little clearer?”
“Please don’t talk any more. I want you to rest. You are getting excited. What is gold compared to a man’s life, Mr. Petersen?”
Elfreda Briggs glanced at the face, then, leaning over, peered closer.
“Get rid of the horse—shoot him. They’ll be here soon after daylight and then—”
That was all. The tired old voice trailed off into nothingness. Sam Petersen had staked his last claim.
Tears trickled down Elfreda’s cheeks. A thin gray bar of daylight was now creeping across the cabin floor, and with it came the memory of the old prospector’s warning: “The Murray gang will be here soon after daylight”—and then—“Get rid of the horse!”
Realizing that perhaps her own life might hang on following Petersen’s advice, Miss Briggs sprang up and ran out. Standing a few yards from the cabin, there was a fine bay mare browsing on the tender leaves of the hedge. The animal regarded her solemnly, and, she thought, with a friendly approving look.