"Not on the South Branch of the American, either fork. It's all placer work yet. That's the quickest. Lodes don't pay; they need machinery, and nobody wants to wait for machinery. But I've heard they're beginning to find lodes over in the Nevada country, beyond the upper North Branch. Several parties on their way to the dry diggin's of Rough and Ready spoke about quartz outcrops over yonder somewhere on the North Branch." "Yes, we thought we'd go over that way ourselves," answered Mr. Grigsby. "Whereabouts is Rough and Ready, Mr. Marshall?" asked Charley's father--much to Charley's relief, who wanted to know, himself. "It's a dry diggin's camp, near to the Nevada dry diggin's, in Grass Valley between the Bear and the Yuba. That's all _I_ know," responded Mr. Marshall, as if to imply that it was all he cared, too! The directions seemed very indefinite, in such a big country, but Mr. Grigsby appeared to be impressed by something or other in Mr. Marshall's words, for he was plunged into a brown study until the party had left Mr. Marshall sitting gloomily as before and were resuming the march. Then, out of earshot of the cabins and mill, he suddenly slapped his buckskin thigh and uttered an exclamation. "By jings!" he said. "I have it--and those three fellows had it, too. We've overrun 'em. They've turned off, below, and I'll wager they're making for that smudge! Remember that smudge on the map--what looked to be another 'G. H.,' in capital letters? Well, sir, if that sign isn't 'G. W.' instead of 'G. H.' I'll miss my guess. 'G. W.'--'Golden West'! How does that strike you? It's yonder in the new quartz country, you see." Charley stared, agape. The idea was stupendous. Oh, if only they had that map, again, so as to re-examine it. "Why--I shouldn't wonder if you were right, Grigsby," agreed his father, weighing the matter. "Then we ought to get over there as quick as we can." "I _know_ I'm right," asserted the Fremonter. "Feel it in my bones. And away we go, as straight as we can travel." A long, long tramp across a wild country it was, now, upon which the tall Fremonter piloted the way. He seemed to know where he was going and what he was doing; and Charley and his father could only trust in his guidance. Up hill and down, through timber and brush, sometimes on a trail and sometimes not, ever making northward, on they went, with the burro the nimblest of all, and Mr. Adams having hard work, occasionally, with his lame leg. But wherever they passed, no matter how rough and high the country, they encountered miners like themselves, digging and washing and searching, in camp or on the march. But not a word more, of the Jacobs party, or of the Golden West mine.