“Of course his father would have the right,” said Jim, haltingly, “but—­I wish he hadn’t let me find him first.  You fellows are sure you ain’t a-foolin’?”

“We couldn’t have done it—­not on Sunday—­after church,” said Lufkins.  “No, Jim, we wouldn’t fool that way.”

“You don’t s’pose that Parky might have took him, out of spite?” said Jim, eager for hope in any direction whatsoever.

“No!  He hates kids worse than pizen,” said the barkeep, decisively.  “He’s been a-gamblin’ since four this afternoon, dealin’ faro-bank.”

“We could go and search every shack in camp,” suggested a listener.

“What would be the good of that?” inquired Field.  “If the father came and took the little shaver, do you think he’d hide him ’round here in somebody’s cabin?”

The blacksmith said:  “It don’t seem as if you could have looked all over the house.  He’s such a little bit of a skeezucks.”

Keno told him how they had searched in every bunk, and how the milk was waiting on the table, and how the pup had escaped when some one opened the door.

The men all volunteered to go up on the hill with torches and lanterns, to see if the trail of the some one who had done this deed might not be discovered.  Accordingly, the lights were secured and the party climbed the slope.  All of them entered the cabin and heard the explanation of exactly how old Jim had found that the little chap was gone.

Webber was one of the number.  To satisfy his incredulous mind, he searched every possible and impossible lurking-place where an object as small as a ball could be concealed.

“I guess he’s went,” he agreed, at last.

Then out on the hill-side went the crowd, and breaking up in groups, each with its lanterns and torches, they searched the rock-strewn slope In every direction.  The wavering lights went hither and yon, revealing now the faces of the anxious men, and then prodigious features of a clump of granite bowlders, jewelled with mica, sparkling in the light.

Intensely the darkness hedged the groups about.  The sounds of their voices and of rocks that crunched beneath their boots alone disturbed the great, eternal calm; but the search was vain.  The searchers had known it could be of no avail, for the puny foot of man could have made no track upon the slanted floor of granite fragments that constituted the hill-side.  It was something to do for Jim, and that was all.

At length, about midnight, it came to an end.  They lingered on the slope, however, to offer their theories, invariably hopeful, and to say that Monday morning would accomplish miracles in the way of setting everything aright.

Many were supperless when all save Jim and little Keno had again returned to Borealis and left the two alone at the cabin.

“We’ll save the milk in case he might come home by any chance,” said the gray old miner, and he placed the cup on a shelf against the wall.