Gold is such a magnet that, no matter where it is, men will go to get it, even under the arctic circle; and if it could be certainly known that gold is at the north pole, money would soon be found to equip expeditions of such magnitude that the secret of even that hitherto unassailable point would quickly be laid bare. The miners and prospectors who were working in the Sepulcher Mountains, and in the adjacent desert, locally called Death Valley, had been shipping out a good deal of gold, by the stages, and in other ways; and on that gold road agents had been levying heavy tolls. Yet, knowing this, Nick Nomad had been unaccountably careless, after striking the trail leading into the Sepulcher Mountains. He fancied that the road agents confined their operations rather exclusively to another trail, and to the other side of the mountains, and to the trails that crisscrossed the desert. Hence, he did not adopt his usual precautions. He went to sleep in the open, with a fire burning, curling himself up by it, and there enjoying his pipe in fancied security. Near by grazed his horse, the famous old Nebuchadnezzar; a horse whose apparent age and decrepitude had to be discounted, or the beholder would be much fooled in him; for, though it seemed that Nebuchadnezzar had about outlived his usefulness and could run no more than a turtle, the old beast was amazingly swift, and also amazingly intelligent. So intelligent was he that old Nick Nomad felt as safe, with Nebuchadnezzar grazing close by, as if the horse had been a trained watch dog sitting guard there. However, even old Nebuchadnezzar grew sleepy after a while, and lay down on the grass to rest. Being tired that day, for he had journeyed far, he slept quite as heavily as did his wearied master; so that, though his ears were keen, trampling hoofs were almost upon the camp before the fact was thudded by their hoofs into his dull ears, arousing him. Nebuchadnezzar lifted his head then, and squealed a warning, at the same time scrambling up and snorting in alarm. Nick Nomad opened his eyes, and bounded to his feet with the agility of a man many years younger. As he did so, he caught up his rifle, an ancient weapon, and swung it round his head. “Whoa, Nebby, consarn ye!” he grunted. “What’s up?” He knew on the instant. “Hands up!” came to him out of the darkness, and he heard rifles clicking. Then he saw dimly the figures of mounted men. He ducked with lightning quickness, sliding across the smoldering fire as he did so, trying thus to reach Nebuchadnezzar. He whistled at the same time in a shrill way, and the knowing beast came running toward him, until stopped by the lariat. The horse reached the end of the lariat with a jerk, and stood snorting. “Whoa, Nebby!” In another minute Nick Nomad would have cut the lariat and been on the back of the old horse; but a rifle rang, and the bullet whistled past his face, making its wind felt, it was so close.