“Some prospector getting in from a trip,” he thought.

The stranger stopped, scratched a match, and, as he undertook to light his pipe, the observer caught the mahogany shine of a negro’s face.  The match sputtered out and then came impatient blasphemy as he searched for another.

“Evenin’, sah!  You-all oblige me with a match?”

He addressed the watcher on the bank above, and, without waiting a reply, began to climb upward.

No smoker on the trail will deny the luxury of a light to the most humble, so as the negro gained his level the man reached forth to accommodate him.  Without warning, the black man leaped forward with the ferocity of an animal and struck the other a fearful blow.  The watchman sank with a faint, startled cry, and the African dragged him out of sight over the brow of the bank, where he rapidly tied him hand and foot, stuffing a gag into his mouth.  At the same moment two other figures rounded the bend below and approached.  They were mounted and leading a third saddle-horse, as well as other pack-animals.  Reaching the workings, they dismounted.  Then began a strange procedure, for one man clambered upon the sluices and, with a pick, ripped out the riffles.  This was a matter of only a few seconds; then, seizing a shovel, he transferred the concentrates which lay in the bottom of the boxes into canvas sacks which his companion held.  As each bag was filled, it was tied and dumped into the cut.  They treated but four boxes in this way, leaving the lower two-thirds of the flume untouched, for Anvil Creek gold is coarse and the heart of the clean-up lies where it is thrown in.  Gathering the sacks together, they lashed them upon the pack-animals, then mounted the second string of sluices and began as before.  Throughout it all they worked with feverish haste and in unbroken silence, every moment flashing quick glances at the figure of the lookout who stood on the crest above, half dimmed in the shadow of a willow clump.  Judging by their rapidity and sureness, they were expert miners.

From the tent came the voices of the night shift at table, and the faint rattle of dishes, while the canvas walls glowed from the lights within like great fire-flies hidden in the grass.  The foreman, finishing his meal, appeared at the door of the mess tent, and, pausing to accustom his eyes to the gloom, peered perfunctorily towards the creek.  The watchman detached himself from the shadow, moving out into plain sight, and the boss turned back.  The two men below were now working on the sluices which lay close under the bank and were thus hidden from the tent.

McNamara’s description of Anvil Creek’s riches had fired Helen Chester with the desire to witness a clean-up, so they had ridden out from town in time for supper at the claim.  She had not known whither he led her, only understanding that provision for her entertainment would be made with the superintendent’s wife.  Upon recognizing the Midas, she had endeavored to question him as to why her friends had been dispossessed, and he had answered, as it seemed, straight and true.