Concho shouted with joy; the rest gazed at each other doubtingly and distrustfully; companions in poverty, they began to diverge and suspect each other in prosperity.  Wiles’s left eye glanced ironically from the one to the other.

“Here is the hundred dollars, Don Jose,” said Pedro, handing the gold to Wiles with a decidedly brusque intimation that the services and presence of a stranger were no longer required.

Wiles took the money with a gracious smile and a wink that sent Pedro’s heart into his boots, and was turning away, when a cry from Manuel stopped him.  “The pot,—­the pot,—­it has leaked! look! behold! see!”

He had been cleaning away the crumbled fragments of the furnace to get ready for breakfast, and had disclosed a shining pool of quicksilver!

Wiles started, cast a rapid glance around the group, saw in a flash that the metal was unknown to them,—­and then said quietly: 

“It is not silver.”

“Pardon, Senor, it is, and still molten.”  Wiles stooped and ran his fingers through the shining metal.

“Mother of God,—­what is it then?—­magic?”

“No, only base metal.”  But here, Concho, emboldened by Wiles’s experiment, attempted to seize a handful of the glistening mass, that instantly broke through his fingers in a thousand tiny spherules, and even sent a few globules up his shirt sleeves, until he danced around in mingled fear and childish pleasure.

“And it is not worth the taking?” queried Pedro of Wiles.

Wiles’s right eye and bland face were turned toward the speaker, but his malevolent left was glancing at the dull red-brown rock on the hill side.

“No!”—­and turning abruptly away, he proceeded to saddle his mule.

Manuel, Miguel, and Pedro, left to themselves, began talking earnestly together, while Concho, now mindful of his crippled mule, made his way back to the trail where he had left her.  But she was no longer there.  Constant to her master through beatings and bullyings, she could not stand incivility and inattention.  There are certain qualities of the sex that belong to all animated nature.

Inconsolable, footsore, and remorseful, Concho returned to the camp and furnace, three miles across the rocky ridge.  But what was his astonishment on arriving to find the place deserted of man, mule, and camp equipage.  Concho called aloud.  Only the echoing rocks grimly answered him.  Was it a trick?  Concho tried to laugh.  Ah—­yes—­a good one,—­a joke,—­no—­no—­they had deserted him.  And then poor Concho bowed his head to the ground, and falling on his face, cried as if his honest heart would break.