Dick and the pilot grasped the pickaxes and set to work with vigour, while Ande used the shovel and occasionally removed with his hands some large boulder that impeded their work. The hunter seemed to constitute himself watchman and was incessantly on guard. The work went on for an hour, and considerable debris was removed when Dick's pickaxe slipped from his hands and disappeared from sight. With an exclamation he leaned forward and found that it had disappeared in an old excavation a few feet in depth. The excavation was widened and the pilot, leaping in, began to work with increased vigour. Hunter Tom now became as deeply interested as the others. It was at a spot that he had not investigated before. That old excavation must mean something, he thought. There was the sound of a metallic click as the pilot's implement struck something hard. With an exclamation of "I've found it," he reached down and grasped something which he handed up to Ande for investigation. It was a small tobacco or snuff-box of ancient make. "Time enough to look at that when we find the ore," said Ande, as he placed it in his inside pocket. The work was again resumed. The labour of excavation now became harder and Dick with his great strength took the pilot's place. At length a peculiar, grey, metallic substance rewarded their labour. A handful of small cubes and octahedral pebbles were passed up for inspection. The tin lantern was lighted and around about clustered the pilot, Dick, and the hunter, while Ande held the handful close to the flame. "The grey, metallic lustre looks like silver glance. It may be the blossom of sulphide of silver or sulphide of lead. We ought to have daylight for a better examination," said Ande; "now----" Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! There was the whistling of bullets in the trees around them, and spiteful thuds as leaden missiles flattened themselves against the rocks. The lantern fell with a crash to the ground, perforated with a dozen bullets. The candle sputtered and went out. "Quick!" shouted Hunter Tom. "'Tis the Shawnese. Aye, I feared it." The pilot grasped his rifle and the prospectors theirs.