“Don’t I say you’ve made a mistake?” repeated the gambler.  “I don’t hold any feelings about it.  Nobody was on for a sure thing about the reservation line till Lawrence run it out.  We had suspicions, from a study of the maps, but it took the Government surveyor to make the matter certain.  It’s a cinch you’re on the reservation land.  You can copper all your rights, and play to win the bet this claim belongs to me—­and everything else that’s any good.  Now don’t stop to talk.  Go to Lawrence for Government facts—­and git a-going pronto.”

Gettysburg was pulling down his sleeves.  Old age had suddenly claimed him for its own.  The song had dried from his heart, and the light of his wonderful youth and hope departed from his eye.  Dave was too stunned to think.  All three felt the weight of conviction sink them in the chilling mire.  The survey of the day before made doubt impossible.

Gettysburg looked at the boxes, the pits they had dug, the water running over the riffles, behind which lay the gold.

“I wish Van was to home,” he said.  “He’d know.”

Their helplessness without the absent Van was complete.  In the game of life they were just old boys who would never become mature.

“Van Buren couldn’t do no good,” McCoppet assured them.  “This ain’t a matter of wrangling or fighting; it’s a matter of law.  If the law ain’t with us you’ll get the property back.  Van Buren would tell you the same.  He didn’t know the ground was reservation.  We give him the benefit of that.  But all the gold you’ve got on the place you’ll have to leave with me.  You never had no rights on the Government preserves, and I’m here ahead of all the bunch in staking it out at six o’clock, the legal opening hour.”

Napoleon started to speak again, but glanced at Gettysburg instead.  A bluff was useless, especially with Gettysburg looking so utterly defeated.  From his tall, old partner, Napoleon looked at Dave.

“Can’t we tack somewhere?” he said.  “Couldn’t we hold the wheel and wait fer Van?”

Gettysburg repeated:  “I wish Van was to home.”

“Come on, come on,” McCoppet urged, beginning to lose his patience.  “If you think you’ve got any rights, go to Lawrence and see.  You’re trespassing here.  I don’t want to tell you harsh to pack your duds and hunt another game, but you can’t stay here no longer.”

Gettysburg hesitated, then slowly came out of the water.  He looked at the sluices hazily.

“Just gittin’ her to pay,” he said.  “The only easy minin’ I ever done.”

Napoleon, suddenly dispirited—­utterly dispirited—­had nothing more to say.  Slowly and in broken order the three old cronies wended towards the cabin.  Less than an hour later, with all their meager treasure in worldly goods roped to the last of Dave’s horses, they quitted the claim, taking Algy, the Chinese cook, along.  They were homeless wanderers with no place in all the world to turn.  Without Van they were utterly lost.  They expected him to come that day to the cove.  Therefore, on a desert spot, not far from the new reservation line, taking possession of a bit of hill so poor that no one had staked it, they made their camp in the sand and rocks, to await Van’s pleasure in returning.