had at last come together in a point.
“I’ve got the almighty cinch on you， Mr. Pocket， an’ youcan’t lose me，” he said many times as he sank the holedeeper and deeper.
Four feet， five feet， six feet， he dug his way down intothe earth. The digging grew harder. His pick grated onbroken rock. He examined the rock.
“Rotten quartz，” was his conclusion as， with the shovel，he cleared the bottom of the hole of loose dirt. Heattacked the crumbling quartz with the pick， bursting thedisintegrating rock asunder with every stroke. He thrusthis shovel into the loose mass. His eye caught a gleam ofyellow. He dropped the shovel and squatted suddenly onhis heels. As a farmer rubs the clinging earth from freshdugpotatoes， so the man， a piece of rotten quartz held inboth hands， rubbed the dirt away.
“Sufferin’ Sardanopolis！” he cried. “Lumps an’ chunks ofit！ Lumps an’ chunks of it！”
It was only half rock he held in his hand. The other halfwas virgin gold. He dropped it into his pan and examinedanother piece. Little yellow was to be seen， but with hisstrong fingers he crumbled the rotten quartz away tillboth hands were filled with glowing yellow. He rubbed thedirt away from fragment after fragment， tossing them intothe gold-pan. It was a treasure-hole. So much had the quartzrotted away that there was less of it than there was of gold.
Now and again he found a piece to which no rock clung—apiece that was all gold. A chunk， where the pick had laid openthe heart of the gold， glittered like a handful of yellow jewels，and he cocked his head at it and slowly turned it aroundand over to observe the rich play of the light upon it.
“Talk about yer Too Much Gold diggin’s！” the mansnorted contemptuously. “Why， this diggin’ ’d make it looklike thirty cents. This diggin’ is All Gold. An’ right here an’
now I name this yere canyon ‘All Gold Canyon，’ b’ gosh！”
Still squatting on his heels， he continued examining thefragments and tossing them into the pan. Suddenly therecame to him a premonition of danger. It seemed a shadowhad fallen upon him. But there was no shadow. His hearthad given a great jump up into his throat and was chokinghim. Then his blood slowly chilled and he felt the sweat ofhis shirt cold against his flesh.
He did not spring up nor look around. He did not move.
He was considering the nature of the premonition he hadreceived， trying to locate the source of the mysteriousforce that had warned him， striving to sense the imperativepresence of the unseen thing that threatened him. Thereis an aura of things hostile， made manifest by messengerstoo refined for the senses to know； and this aura he felt，but knew not how he felt it. His was the feeling as whena cloud passes over the sun. It seemed that between himand life had passed something dark and smothering andmenacing； a gloom， as it were， that swallowed up life andmade for death—his death.
Every force of his being impelled him to spring up andconfront the unseen danger， but his soul dominated thepanic， and he remained squatting on his heels， in his hands achunk of gold. He did not dare to look around， but he knewby now that there was something behind him and above him.
He made believe to be interested in the gold in his hand. Heexamined it critically， turned it over and over， and rubbedthe dirt from it. And all the time he knew that somethingbehind him was looking at the gold over his shoulder.
Still feigning interest in the chunk of gold in his hand，he listened intently and he heard the breathing of thething behind him. His eyes searched the ground in frontof him for a weapon， but they saw only the uprooted gold，worthless to him now in his extremity. There was his pick，a handy weapon on occasion； but this was not such anoccasion. The man realized his predicament. He was ina narrow hole that was seven feet deep. His head did notcome to the surface of the ground. He was in a trap.
He remained squatting on his heels. He was quite cooland collected； but his mind， considering every factor，showed him only his helplessness. He continued rubbingthe dirt from the quartz fragments and throwing the goldinto the pan. There was nothing else for him to do. Yet heknew that he would have to rise up， sooner or later， andface the danger that breathed at his back. The minutespassed， and with the passage of each minute he knew thatby so much he was nearer the time when he must standup， or else—and his wet shirt went cold against his fleshagain at the thought—or else he might receive death as hestooped there over his treasure.
Still he squatted on his heels， rubbing dirt from goldand debating in just what manner he should rise up. Hemight rise up with a rush and claw his way out of thehole to meet whatever threatened on the even footingabove ground. Or he might rise up slowly and carelessly，and feign casually to discover the thing that breathed athis back. His instinct and every fighting fibre of his bodyfavored the mad， clawing rush to the surface. His intellect，and the craft thereof， favored the slow and cautiousmeeting with the thing that menaced and which he couldnot see. And while he debated， a loud， crashing noise burston his ear. At the same instant he received a stunning blowon the left side of the back， and from the point of impactfelt a rush of flame through his flesh. He sprang up in theair， but halfway to his feet collapsed. His body crumpled inlike a leaf withered in sudden heat， and he came down， hischest across his pan of gold， his face in the dirt and rock，his legs tangled and twisted because of the restricted spaceat the bottom of the hole. His legs twitched convulsivelyseveral times. His body was shaken as with a mighty ague.
There was a slow expansion of the lungs， accompanied bya deep sigh. Then the air was slowly， very slowly， exhaled，and his body as slowly flattened itself down into inertness.
