"Maybe there isn't anything wonderful about this," called Clancy, as Frank led the way into the narrow passage, "but--well, it gets my goat. Poor old Pink is missing the time of his life. Now, if we can find Borrodaile, and jog him into a realization of where he is and what he has done, we'll just about make a good night's work of it. It's a relief to know that the prof hasn't been in danger of being bunkoed out of his gold mine." "We don't know that yet," Frank called back over his shoulder. "Don't take too much for granted, Red. This move on Happenchance may be putting us clear off the scent." "I'll bet something it isn't," said Clancy, with supreme conviction. Emerging from the pass, the boys descended into a circular valley, in whose center shapeless ruins covered all the old-time glories--such as they were--of a once bustling mining camp. The searchlights pierced the vast heap of debris, and revealed the cluttered lane which had once been the town's main street. Carefully Frank steered through the passage and came at last to a halt in front of the only four walls in the place that remained standing. Here was the building in which they had discovered Professor Phineas Borrodaile, living alone in primitive surroundings and trying to imagine him self a troglodyte. "Hello, professor!" shouted Clancy. His voice echoed back and forth between the cliffs that rimmed the valley, but brought no answer. "Not here!" he exclaimed, in a voice of profound disappointment. "You really expected that yell would bring him?" Frank asked. "I really did. Hang the luck! Say, Chip, I guess the theory won't hold water. The prof is still mysteriously absent, after all." Merry had removed the lamp from his machine, and was standing in front of the old door. It was swinging by one rusty hinge, and he pushed it wide open. "Look out for snakes, Chip!" warned Clancy. Cautiously the boys pushed through the doorway and into the room that lay beyond. They looked around them, as Merry flashed the beam of light over the ruinous walls. Instinctively a gasp of surprise escaped them. A cot had once stood at the side of the room, and there had been an oil stove in the place, and a shelf with some books, a chair, a trunk, and a few other odds and ends of primitive housekeeping. But now there was nothing. Every object had been cleaned out of the place and only the bare walls remained. "Professor Borrodaile isn't here, Clan," said young Merriwell presently. "But he has been here, and made off with his plunder, that's plain. The question is where is the professor now?" It was a startling discovery the boys had made; not in itself alone, but in the question to which it had given rise. CHAPTER VII. WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE.