again into the little hollow where they had left us, when the print of a man’s foot caught Bradley’s eye in the soft sandy earth.  Several others were noticed close by, none of which, Bradley protested, had been made by our party, and certainly not by a bear, but by some sculking Indians, who had been very likely hovering about us.  They hastened to communicate this intelligence to us, and it was decided that as the party bound for the coast were now within some few hours’ ride of the upper settlements on the Sacramento, no Indians would be daring enough to attack them, and it would hardly be worth while for us to accompany them further.  We, however, insisted upon riding a few miles more on the road, which having done, we took leave of them with many wishes for their safe and speedy return, and turned our horses’ heads round in the direction of the camp.

Feeling rather fidgetty at the incident of the morning, we passed the spot where it had taken place, keeping an anxious look-out in every direction, and after a hard ride of several hours, reached the camp shortly after sundown, glad that we had escaped any disaster.  We had a merry evening of it; a double allowance of whisky was served out, and we drank our friends’ safe arrival and return.

* * * * *

I now sit down for the first time, after a lapse of several weeks, to resume the continuation of my narrative.  Late in the evening of the 5th, while my companions were chatting over the fire, and I was engaged in writing, we were interrupted on a sudden by a loud whistle, the note of which I thought I could not be mistaken in.  “Sure that’s Bradley,” exclaimed I; the others thought not, and, catching up their rifles, examined the flints.  The whistle, when again repeated, convinced every one, however, that my first surmise had been correct.  In another minute Bradley galloped up to us, and Don Luis soon followed after; but, to our astonishment, Malcolm was not of the party.  “My friends,” exclaimed Bradley, “a sad disaster; the best part of the gold is gone—­lost beyond a doubt.”  “Lost!” said I, expecting some treachery on the part of Bradley and Don Luis; “How?  I don’t believe it; I never will believe it.”  Bradley gave me an angry look, but said nothing.

“Where’s Malcolm?” exclaimed I.  “Dead by this time, I am afraid,” replied Bradley.  “Good God!” I exclaimed aloud, and involuntarily muttered to myself, “Then you have murdered him.”  I noticed Bradley examined the countenances of the whole party by turns, and, as my eye followed his, I saw that every one looked sullen and angry.  He, too, evidently saw this, and said nothing more the whole evening.  Don Luis, however, volunteered the following explanation of the mystery.