"I guess you wish you were back in the snug farmhouse, don't you, boys?"

called Mr. Harrison above the roar of the storm.

"I do," replied Will, frankly.

"Oh, I can stand it," answered Jed. "We may get worse than this."

"That's right, my boy," added Mr. Curtin. "This is a bad storm, but there's lots of worse things in the gold fields where you're going. Bad men are worse than bad storms."

"Right you are," murmured Gabe. "But if I'm not mistaken, this seems to be letting up a bit."

The rain did not appear to be coming down quite so hard, and there were longer pauses between the flashes of lightning. But if the storm did cease in its violence, it did not stop altogether, for it rained all night, and, though the travelers did manage to make a rude sort of shelter of the blankets, they spent several miserable hours until morning.

"Oh, for some hot coffee and crisp bacon!" exclaimed Will, as he crawled out from under his blanket, and surveyed the wet scene all about. "It wouldn't be so bad then."

"Hot coffee! Crisp bacon!" exclaimed Gabe. "Say, young man, you ought to be glad the sun is shining. There'll be no hot coffee this morning.

Wood's too wet to make a fire. Cold grub for ours, until noon, when we may strike a place where we can get some dry tinder. But the sun will soon make our clothes look less as if we'd paid a visit to the washwoman. Up, everybody, and straighten out camp!"

No one cared to linger in the wet blankets, and though it was not a very cheerful company that gathered around to eat a cold breakfast, they all felt that matters might have been much worse.

The packs were soon strapped on the horses, and, mounting their steeds, the travelers set off again. On every side were evidences of the storm.

The river they had crossed was swollen to twice its former size, and they were glad that they had forded it the previous evening, instead of delaying, as they would have been held up several days waiting for the flood to subside.

That noon they arrived at a settler's cabin, where they were made welcome, and glad enough they were of it, too, for they were doubtful about finding any dry wood to make a fire, and had the prospect of a cold dinner before them. The settler, who had a small sheep ranch, greeted them cordially, and set out before them the best that he had.

However, hot coffee was the most desirable thing he could provide.

From this man Gabe made some inquiries as to the best road to follow, for they were now approaching the gold fields, and they wanted to know the nearest trail to Dizzy Gulch.

"It's not far now," said the old miner to his companions, after a talk with the sheep-herder. "Three days more ought to bring us there."

"Then for the golden nuggets!" exclaimed Jed. "I hope we can send some back to dad soon."

"Don't be too hopeful," cautioned Will, with his usual ability for looking on the dark side of things.

"Yes, I'm going to be hopeful," responded Jed. "Half the fun of a thing is looking forward to it, and I'm going to imagine that I'm going to pick up plenty of the yellow boys. Then, if I'm disappointed, I've had the satisfaction of some good thinking, anyhow."

"That's the right idea," declared Gabe.

They remained that night at the sheep-herder's cabin, and in the morning pressed forward again. The weather was fine after the storm, and that night they camped amid the mountains, near a trail that showed it was well traveled.

"Hark! What's that!" exclaimed Will, in the middle of the night, as he was awakened by hearing voices, and a noise of horses traveling over the rocky path, not far from where they had pitched their camp.

"Sounds like a lot of men," observed Jed.

"It is," replied Gabe, who had also been awakened by the talk of the boys. "They're miners, too," he added, after listening a moment.

"They're on their way to new diggings. Boys, we're near our destination.

This is where the main trail strikes in. The rush is on, and we're only just in time!"

In the morning, when they started forward, they found they were only one party among a number. The rush was indeed on, and two days later the two boys and their companions were on the edge of the gold fields of Montana, and Dizzy Gulch, of which Ted Jordan had written, was less than a hundred miles away.

CHAPTER XIII

ON A NEW TRAIL

Had the boys not been told by their companions, during their journey, of what they might expect in a new gold field, they would have been much surprised by the scenes which met their eyes on every side. They arrived at a small settlement that night. It rejoiced in the rather thrilling name of b.l.o.o.d.y Canyon, but as one of the storekeepers there remarked, it was not half as b.l.o.o.d.y as it had been.

"For you see, strangers," he said, pushing his big, broad-brimmed hat as far back on his head as it would go, "there was a powerful lot of shooting-up around these diggings for the past few weeks. Lots of 'em was killed, and the rest lit out for new strikes, so we old settlers has it sort of peaceful now."

"How long have you been here?" asked Gabe.

"Me? Oh, nigh on to a month. I'm one of the oldest settlers. My store was one of the first started, next to the bank," and he waved his hand toward a couple of rough board structures, that showed signs of having been hastily erected.

"How about the strikes at Dizzy Gulch?" asked Mr. Hurd.

"I don't take much stock in 'em myself," replied the "oldest settler,"

who gave his name as Tom Judson. "b.l.o.o.d.y Canyon is good enough for me.

I've got a couple of nice claims staked out, and I've struck pay dirt."

At that moment there was the sound of several pistol shots.

"What's that?" asked Jed, looking around.

"Now take it easy! Take it easy, son," advised Mr. Judson. "That's probably only a gambler being rustled out of camp."

"Gamblers? Are there gamblers here?" asked Gabe.

"Gamblers? Well, I should swallow my grub-stake!" exclaimed the genial Mr. Judson, who seemed given to violent expressions. "We was overrun with 'em one spell. Shot two, hung one, and rid a dozen more out of camp on a rail, with a coat of tar and feathers. But they still pester us occasional like."

"Did one named Con Morton show up around here?" asked the old miner.

"Con Morton? No, I don't recollect any such high-sounding name as that.

But you never can tell. They go by any name that suits their fancy, them gamblers."

"I'd like to see that Morton," murmured Gabe.

"Why for would you like to meet up with him?" asked Mr. Judson. "If you're looking for a straight gambling game I can show you one. I'm the United States marshal for these diggings, and I don't stand for no crooked work."

"No, thank you, I had enough of gambling," replied Gabe. "That Morton fellow swindled me out of a fortune, and I'd like a chance to get it back."

"Too bad, stranger," replied the marshal, "but I don't believe you have much show. Them gamblers is pretty tricky. There, I guess they must be shooting up another one," he added quickly, as more pistol shots were heard.

The disturbance, whatever it was, did not last long, and though the two boys looked about anxiously, fearing the fight might turn in their direction, they saw nothing alarming, and the mining camp soon became quiet again.

"Was you-all thinking of striking out for Dizzy Gulch?" asked Mr.

Judson.