“They _hain’t_ got no souls—that’s what made him do it, Charley,” said Lynn Taps, as the men deployed. Steadily the miners ascended the rugged slope; rocks, trees, fallen trunks and treacherous holes impeded their progress, but did not stop them. A steady wind cut them to the bone, and grew more keen and fierce as they neared the snow. Suddenly Chagres Charley fired, and the boys faced to the right—a moment later another shot rallied the party; those nearest it found Nappy Boney in a high state of excitement, and leaning over a foot-print. “_Mon Dieu!_” he cried; “they have not the _esprit_, those Mexicans; but her footprints might have been made by the adorable feet of one of my countrywomen, it is so small.” “Yes,” said Mississip; “an’ one of them fellers that started ahead hez found it fust, fur here’s a man’s track a-goin’ up.” Rapidly the excited miners followed the tracks through the snow, and found them gradually leading to the regular trail across the mountain, which trail few men ventured upon at that season. Suddenly the men in advance stopped. “Here ’tis, I reckon!” cried Mississip, springing across a small cleft in the rocks, and running toward a dark object lying on the sheltered side of a small cliff. “Good God!” he continued, as he stooped down; “it’s Codago! An’ he’s froze stiff.” “Serve him right, cuss him,” growled Lynn Taps. “I almost wish he _had_ a soul, so he could catch it good an’ hot, now he’s gone!” “He’s got his pack with him,” shouted Mississip, “and a huggin’ it ez tight ez ef he could take it to—to wherever he’s gone to.” “No man with a soul could hev ben cool enough to pack up his traps after seein’ that poor woman’s face,” argued Lynn Taps. Mississip tore off a piece of his trowsers, struck fire with flint and steel, poured on whisky, and blew it into a flame. Rapidly the miners straggled up the trail, and halted opposite Mississip. “Well, I’ll be durned!” shouted the latter; “he ain’t got no shirt on, an’ there’s an ugly cut in his arm. It beats anything I ever seed!” One by one the miners leaped the cleft, and crowded about Mississip and stared. It was certainly Codago, and there was certainly his pack, made up in his poncho, in the usual Greaser manner, and held tightly in his arms. But while they stared, there was a sudden movement of the pack itself. Lynn Taps gave a mighty tug at it, extricated it from the dead man’s grasp, and rapidly undid it. Suddenly, by the glare of a fresh light, the boys saw the face of a rather dirty, large-eyed, brown-skinned Mexican baby; and the baby, probably by way of recognition, raised high a voice such as the boys never heard before on that side of the Rocky Mountains.