“Here we are,” he muttered, “and no mistake.”

Desmond saw that his explorations in that direction had ended.  He retraced his steps and selected a second crevice along which he made his way, and at length he landed in a pretty good sized inner cave.

“Well, I reckon we’ve got it here.”

The lad proceeded to search around with the care of a detective looking for clues.  He did find evidences of some one having been in the cave; he found the handle of a dirk, a small bit of a deerskin hunting jacket, and finally a little bit of pure gold.  He examined the latter under his lamp, satisfied himself that it was a nugget of real gold in its natural state, and his heart beat fast.

“I’ve got it at last,” he muttered; “yes, I thought I knew how to carry on this search.  Creedon must have done it too hurriedly.”

Desmond felt quite proud of his success; he had struck it sure, as he believed, and he continued his search, and was intently engaged when suddenly he heard a sepulchral groan at the instant he had plunged into a sort of pocket and was feeling around; but when he heard that groan he started back into the cave and stood as white as a sheet gazing around in every direction, and there was a wild terror in his eyes.  He stood for fully two minutes gazing and listening, and finally he said: 

“Great Scott! what was that I heard—­a groan?”

Desmond, although brave and vigorous, after all was but a lad of less than eighteen.  He could have faced a grizzly bear, but when it came to the supernatural he was not equal to it.  The fact was he was dead scared, and, then again he believed he had really struck the hidden recess where the old Mexican’s gold was secreted.

The young are more susceptible to superstitious fears, as a rule, than older people; they are not skeptical.

Desmond listened a long time, and as he did not hear the noise again, and feeling an intense desire to find the hidden treasure, he again went to the rock pocket and plunged in, but immediately there came again the groan, clear, distinct, and unmistakable, and also a voice commanding: 

“Go away, go away; do not disturb my gold.”

The lad leaped out into the main cave again, and he trembled from head to foot.  He had never received such a shock in all his life; he had never really believed in ghosts—­never thought much about them indeed—­but here he had at least evidence that the dead did watch their treasures.  Still, the desire to secure the wealth was strong upon him; naturally he was, as our readers know, very nervy, and he determined to argue with the ghost.  He reasoned that the hidden wealth could be of no benefit to the spirit where he was, and he thought he might talk him into keeping quiet.

It was in a trembling voice that Desmond asked: 

“Is the spirit here?”

The answer came: 

“I am here.”

A more experienced person than Desmond would have gotten on to the fact that it was very strange that the spirit should answer him in such good English, it being supposed to be the spirit of a Mexican, but spirits probably can talk any language.  At any rate, Desmond did not stop to consider.