The eyes of the young man were fixed upon it with more than a momentary picturesque interest.  It had been the favorite ground of his prospecting exploits, its lowest flank had been scarred in the old enthusiastic days with hydraulic engines, or pierced with shafts, but its central position in the claim and its superior height had always given it a commanding view of the extent of their valley and its approaches, and it was this practical preeminence that alone attracted him at that moment.  He knew that from its crest he would be able to distinguish the figures of his companions, as they crossed the valley near the cabin, in the growing moonlight.  Thus he could avoid encountering them on his way to the highroad, and yet see them, perhaps, for the last time.  Even in his sense of injury there was a strange satisfaction in the thought.

The ascent was toilsome, but familiar.  All along the dim trail he was accompanied by gentler memories of the past, that seemed, like the faint odor of spiced leaves and fragrant grasses wet with the rain and crushed beneath his ascending tread, to exhale the sweeter perfume in his effort to subdue or rise above them.  There was the thicket of manzanita, where they had broken noonday bread together; here was the rock beside their maiden shafts, where they had poured a wild libation in boyish enthusiasm of success; and here the ledge where their first flag, a red shirt heroically sacrificed, was displayed from a long-handled shovel to the gaze of admirers below.  When he at last reached the summit, the mysterious hush was still in the air, as if in breathless sympathy with his expedition.  In the west, the plain was faintly illuminated, but disclosed no moving figures.  He turned towards the rising moon, and moved slowly to the eastern edge.  Suddenly he stopped.  Another step would have been his last!  He stood upon the crumbling edge of a precipice.  A landslip had taken place on the eastern flank, leaving the gaunt ribs and fleshless bones of Lone Star Mountain bare in the moonlight.  He understood now the strange rumble and reverberation he had heard; he understood now the strange hush of bird and beast in brake and thicket!

Although a single rapid glance convinced him that the slide had taken place in an unfrequented part of the mountain, above an inaccessible canon, and reflection assured him his companions could not have reached that distance when it took place, a feverish impulse led him to descend a few rods in the track of the avalanche.  The frequent recurrence of outcrop and angle made this comparatively easy.  Here he called aloud; the feeble echo of his own voice seemed only a dull impertinence to the significant silence.  He turned to reascend; the furrowed flank of the mountain before him lay full in the moonlight.  To his excited fancy a dozen luminous star-like points in the rocky crevices started into life as he faced them.  Throwing his arm over the ledge above him, he supported himself for a moment by what appeared