Wanatoma, almost motionless as a statue, gazed at the gloom of the hillside, at the stars which were beginning to show faintly above; then, as the weird, shrill cry of some nocturnal bird jarred over the air, he sighed, and turned toward the fire.
The blanket was wrapped around his form again. With his hand on the Great Dane's head, he began to rock to and fro on his rude log seat, gazing into the depths of the fire, as though he could read in the glowing flames what the future held in store for the youthful searchers after the Rambler Club's Gold Mine.
CHAPTER VIII"Well, how are you goin' to find Mr. Lovell among about five thousand people?" asked Jack Conroy. "Say somethin', Timmy."
"Let's hunt up the steamboat landing," suggested Tim. "Don't believe many people got off the boat, and
