He freed himself from the plunging horse, but his head struck hard against the gnarled trunk of a juniper and, half stunned, his body slid over the edge and dropped.

Chuckling and mouthing, rubbing his hands together, Banker slunk from his ambush. He retrieved his wire and then looked at the horse kicking on the ground.

"No use lettin' him go back to the ranch," he said, slyly. Then he drew his six-shooter and shot the animal.

Leading his own horse he climbed carefully down the slope and worked his way to where the body must have fallen. But it took him some time to find it, as Sucatash had rolled far after striking the slope.

He came upon it at last wedged against a clump of greasewood. There was blood on the head and the sightless eyes stared up to the gray sky. Snowflakes fell steadily and melted against the white cheeks. The body lay awkwardly twisted.

"Dead!" chuckled Banker. "All of 'em die! Old Jim don't die, though!

Old Jim'll find it! He'll find the gold. French Pete hid it; Panamint hid it; this here Frog lady is hidin' it. But old Jim'll find it. Old Jim'll find it after all of 'em's dead. Dead! Dead! Dead!"

He burst out into shrill laughter, and his horse snorted and tried to pull away. He instantly broke off laughing to curse foully, mouthing obscenities and oaths as he jerked cruelly at the spade bit. The trembling horse squatted back and then stood with wildly rolling eyes.

Muttering, Jim stamped heavily down the hill, dragging the horse with him and leaving the still form to the mercies of the snow. The falling flakes were already filling up the trail that he left. In an hour or two there would be no sign of his presence.

CHAPTER XVII

THE SECRET OF THE LOST MINE

Through most of the day Dave and Solange pushed on up the canyon and the snow fell steadily, deepening under foot. As yet there were no drifts, for the wind was not blowing and progress was easy enough.

After a few hours the snow grew deep enough to ball up under the feet of the horses and to cause some inconvenience from slipping. More than once Solange was in danger of being thrown by the plunge of her horse as his feet slid from under him. This served to r.e.t.a.r.d their progress considerably but was not of much consequence aside from that and the slight element of added danger.

They had no more than fifteen miles to go before reaching the rendezvous, and this they made shortly after noon. Dave, who had become more silent than ever when he found himself alone with the girl, pitched the tent and then went to gather a supply of wood.

Unused to strenuous riding, Solange went into her tent and lay down to rest.

They had expected to find De Launay, but there was no sign of him.

Dave said that he might be within a short distance and they not know it, and a.s.serted his intention of scouting around to find him after he had got the wood.

Solange was asleep when he came back with a load snaked in with his lariat, and he did not disturb her. Leaving the wood he rode on up the canyon looking for signs of De Launay. But, although he spent the better part of the afternoon in the search, riding in and out of every branch gully, and quartering up the slopes to where the black stands of timber began, he found no trace of the man.

Finally, fearing that Solange would begin to be frightened at his absence, he turned and started back to the camp. He had marked it by a large outcrop that stuck out of the canyon wall, forming a flat oblong bench of rock. This had hung on the slope about a hundred feet above the floor of the valley, and so he made his way along at about that height. It was beginning to get dark, the snow was falling heavily and he found it difficult to see far in front of him.

"High time old Sucatash was fannin' in fer dogs," he said to himself.

"The winter's done set in for sure."

Fearing that he would miss the camp by keeping so high he headed his horse downward and finally reached the bottom of the canyon. Here the snow was deeper but the going was better. He turned downward with some relief, and was just about to spur his horse to greater speed when, through the gray mist of snow, a shadowy figure loomed up before him.

"Hey, De Launay?" he called. The figure did not answer but moved toward him.

He reined in his horse and leaned outward to look more intently.

Behind the man, who was mounted, he saw the blurred outlines of pack animals. "De Launay?" he called again.

The figure seemed to grow suddenly nearer and more distinct, descending close upon him.

"It ain't no Delonny," chuckled a shrill voice. "It's me."

"Huh!" said Dave, with disgust. "Jim Banker, the d.a.m.ned old desert rat!"

"Reckon you ain't so glad to see me," wheezed Jim, still chuckling.

"Old Jim's always around, though; always around when there's gold huntin' to do. Always around, old Jim is!"

"Well, mosey on and pull your freight," snarled Dave. "We don't want you too close around. It's a free country, but keep to windward and out o' sight."

"You don't like old Jim! Hee, hee! Don't none of 'em like old Jim! But Jim's here, a-huntin'--and most of them's dead that don't like him.

Old Jim don't die! The other fellers dies!"

"So I hears," said Dave, with meaning. He said no more, for Banker, without the slightest warning, shot him through the head.

The horses plunged as the body dropped to the ground and Jim wheezed and cackled as he held his own beast down.

"Hee, hee! They all of 'em dies, but old Jim don't die!"

With a snort Dave's horse wheeled and galloped away up the canyon. The sound of his going frightened the prospector. He ceased to laugh, and cowered in his saddle, looking fearfully about him into the dim swirl of the snow.

"Who's that?" he called.

The deadly silence was unbroken. The old man shook his fist in the air and again broke into his frightful cursing.

"I ain't afraid!" he yelled. "d.a.m.n you. I ain't afraid! You're all dead. You're dead, there; French Pete's dead, Sucatash Wallace's dead, Panamint's dead. But old Jim's alive! Old Jim'll find it. You bet you he will!"

He bent his head and appeared to listen again. Then:

"What's that? Who's singin'?"

He fell to muttering again, quoting doggerel, whined out in an approach to a tune: "Louisiana--Louisiana Lou!"

"Louisiana's dead!" he chuckled. "If he aint he better not come back.

The gal's a-waitin' fer him. Louisiana what killed her pappy! Ha, ha!

Louisiana killed French Pete!"

He turned his horse and slowly, still muttering, began to haze his burros back down the canyon.

"Old Jim's smart," he declaimed. "All same like an Injun, old Jim is!

Come a-sneakin' up past the camp there and the gal never knew I was nigh. Went a-sneakin' past and seen his tracks goin' up the canyon.

Just creeps along and rides up on him and now he's dead! All dead but the gal and old Jim! Old Jim don't die. The gal'll die, but not old Jim! She'll tell old Jim what she knows and then old Jim will find the gold."

Through the m.u.f.fling snow he pushed on until the faint glow of a fire came to him through the mist of snowflakes. A shadow flitted in front of it, and he stopped to chuckle evilly and mutter. Then he dismounted and walked up to the camp, where Solange busied herself in preparing supper.

"That you, Monsieur David?" she called cheerily, as Jim's boots crunched the snow.

Jim chuckled. "It's just me--old Jim, ma'am," he said, his voice oily and ingratiating. "Old Jim, come to see the gal of his old friend, Pete."

Solange whirled. But Jim had sidled between her and the tent, where, just inside the flap, rested the rifle that Sucatash had left her.