At about seven o'clock that evening Hugh Lark rode up to the tavern of Burgtown. Burke, the tavern keeper, met him at the entrance. "Going rafting, Hugh?" "No. Air the two strangers here?" "Been rafting?" "No. Air Mr. Ande and Mr. Dick here?" "But ye surely have more rafts to run, Hugh?" "Ye ken well enou' that I'm not a-going rafting. How could I go rafting a-horse-back. But perhaps ye think that I can get the gray mare to pull an oar, and I've no doubt that she could do that, for she has a heap more sense than some men I know that are not very far from me," said Hugh, exasperated. "Yes, the mare has great sense," replied Peter, gazing at the animal with a bland eye. "I kalkilate you uns air going to find that mine, Hugh?" "We are going a-hunting," said the nettled Hugh. At this moment Ande and Dick came forth upon the long porch, and Hugh's anger was mollified. "Are ye ready?" "Yes," said Ande, and the next moment two horses were led around to the front by the stable lad and they vaulted into their saddles and prepared to leave. "I say, Mr. Ande,"--the tavern keeper had the habit of calling them by their first names, perhaps from Hugh's custom--"I say, air you uns a-going hunting fer thet mine?" Ande gazed at the curious tavern keeper gravely and then responded: "The primary intention of our nocturnal expedition is to reconnoitre the situation of the argentiferous fissures indigenous to this locality, the elucidation of which will be beneficial to us and of salient value to the community at large." "Oh, I thought you uns were a-going to find the mine," said Burke, apologetically, and as they rode off he said, to himself, "Wot langwidge! wot a scholard! He beats Bill, but,--dang it, if I believe they're going fishing, though. They hain't no hooks or rods and who ever hearn tell of a man going fishing with a gun." So saying, he went within. The sun had gone down and twilight was creeping on, enveloping the earth with its soft hazy light, as the three rode over the lower bridge and o'er the trail to the forks of the creek. The moon was not up, but it was twilight still when they forded the Big Creek and turned up the trail to Hunter Tom's cabin. A short distance, and a glimmering light penetrated the trees and underbrush ahead. "Some one on the trail," said Dick. "No," responded the pilot, "'tis a light from Hunter Tom's cabin. The old man must be getting ready to start." The light was dimmed by a brighter effulgence beyond. A rim of silver shoved itself above the neighbouring hills, and then a semi-circular disc, gradually growing in brightness and flooding hill and ravine with mellow light. Giant boulders and tree trunks were silhouetted against its rising disc, and on a tree branch just athwart the centre was, grotesque and huge, the figure of the lone bird of night--an owl. "Plenty of light to-night," said Hugh. "But not more than we need; the search will require all the light we can get," said Ande.