Very much to his surprise, and indeed it did seem an extraordinary chance, for it was the only key he had, it proved to fit the lock. He turned it, and raised the lid. The sight dazzled him. Before him lay piles of gold and silver coins, and a package of bank bills. This cave was evidently the store house of an organized band of robbers, and the chest might be considered their treasury. "I wonder if this is real," thought Dean. "It seems like a scene in the Arabian Nights." It did indeed seem strange that this far off nook of Colorado should be the rendezvous and treasure house of a band so widely scattered that the captain was a quiet citizen of a small town in the State of New York, nearly two thousand miles away. How improbable it would have seemed to the Citizens of Waterford, among whom Squire Bates moved, living in outward seeming the life of any other respectable and law abiding citizen! This was the Waterford mystery, which by a series of remarkable adventures it had fallen to Dean to solve. He locked the chest, fearing that Pompey might suddenly awake, and, following, discover what he was about. He wanted some time to think over this strange discovery, and consider what to do. To be sure, there seemed little chance of his doing anything except to remain where he was, a subterranean prisoner. Dean felt more than ever a desire to leave the cave, but the prospect was not encouraging. Why he was kept a prisoner he could guess. He knew too much of the band, and especially of their leader, and he was considered dangerous. His imprisonment might be a prolonged one, and Dean felt that this would be intolerable. It was in a very sober frame that he returned to the room where Pompey was still sleeping. An hour later the negro awoke and stretched himself. "Have I been asleep long, young massa?" he asked. "Two or three hours, I should think, Pompey." "Dat's strange! I only just closed my eyes for a minute, and I done forgot myself." "You might as well go to sleep. There's nothing else to do." "I must get some dinner, honey. Don't you feel hungry?" "I might eat something," said Dean listlessly. Pompey bustled round, and prepared a lunch, to which Dean, homesick as he was, did not fail to do justice. It takes a great deal to spoil the appetite of a growing boy. After the noon repast Dean sat down. He was beginning to find the monotony intolerable. "Have you got any books down here, Pompey?" he asked. Pompey shook his head. "No use for books, young massa. I can't read." "But I can." "Perhaps Massa Kirby will bring you some if you ask him." Dean did not care to ask any favor of Kirby. Moreover he knew that that gentleman was not particularly literary, and doubted if he was in a position to grant the request. By way of beguiling the time he took out his harmonica in an absent mood, and began to play "Old Folks at Home." Instantly Pompey was on the alert. His eyes brightened, and he fixed them in rapture upon the young player.