MacDonald did not turn when he spoke.  His voice was deep and vibrant with an intense emotion.  Yet he was not excited.

“I’ve been hunting for that mount’in for forty years, Johnny!”

“Mac!”

Aldous leaned over and laid a hand on the old mountaineer’s shoulder.  Still MacDonald did not look at him.

“Forty years,” he repeated, as if speaking to himself.  “I see how I missed it now, just as DeBar said.  I hunted from the west, an’ on that side the mount’in ain’t black.  We must have crossed this valley an’ come in from the east forty years ago, Johnny——­”

He turned now, and what Joanne and Aldous saw in his face was not grief; it was not the sorrow of one drawing near to his beloved dead, but a joy that had transfigured him.  The fire and strength of the youth in which he had first looked upon this valley with Jane at his side burned again in the sunken eyes of Donald MacDonald.  After forty years he had come into his own.  Somewhere very near was the cavern with the soft white floor of sand, and for a moment Aldous fancied that he could hear the beating of MacDonald’s heart, while from Joanne’s tender bosom there rose a deep, sobbing breath of understanding.

And MacDonald, facing the mountain again, pointed with a long, gaunt arm, and said: 

“We’re almost there, Johnny.  God ha’ mercy on them if they’ve beat us out!”

CHAPTER XXVI

They rode on into the Valley of Gold.  Again MacDonald took the lead, and he rode straight into the face of the black mountain.  Aldous no longer made an effort to keep Joanne in ignorance of what might be ahead of them.  He put a sixth cartridge into the chamber of his rifle, and carried the weapon across the pommel of his saddle.  He explained to her now why they were riding behind—­that if their enemies were laying in wait for them, MacDonald, alone, could make a swift retreat.  Joanne asked no questions.  Her lips were set tight.  She was pale.

At the end of three quarters of an hour it seemed to them that MacDonald was riding directly into the face of a wall of rock.  Then he swung sharply to the left, and disappeared.  When they came to the point where he had turned they found that he had entered a concealed break in the mountain—­a chasm with walls that rose almost perpendicular for a thousand feet above their heads.  A dark and solemn gloom pervaded this chasm, and Aldous drew nearer to MacDonald, his rifle held in readiness, and his bridle-rein fastened to his saddle-horn.  The chasm was short.  Sunlight burst upon them suddenly, and a few minutes later MacDonald waited for them again.

Even Aldous could not restrain an exclamation of surprise when he rode up with Joanne.  Under them was another valley, a wide-sweeping valley between two rugged ranges that ran to the southwest.  Up out of it there came to their ears a steady, rumbling roar; the air was filled with that roar; the earth seemed to tremble with it under their feet—­and yet it was not loud.  It came sullenly, as if from a great distance.