His maximum of strength was required to turn the stone upon its back on the floor of the block-house. Across the earth upon which it so long had lain scurried the crawling things that thrive in under-rock dampness. Down on his knees dropped Pape and, with a slate-like fragment of rock which had broken off in the fall, began to remove the soft soil. Soon the emergency implement met obstruction. No longer needing advice to “take heart,” he cast aside the slate and began scooping out the earth around this object with bare hands. A heavy touch upon his arm shocked him into an over-shoulder glance. The Belgian stood bristling just behind him; had tapped him with a paw insistent for a share in the digging job. Willingly enough Pape accepted his efficient aid down to the top of an earthen pot of the Boston bean variety. More excited than in past hunts for seldom-found gold pockets of his early prospecting days, the Westerner pushed aside the dog; worked his two nail-torn hands down and down the smooth-curved sides. With a slow tug, he lifted what he could no longer doubt was the crock of the crypt. Reverently as though he were an acolyte bearing some holy vessel to an altar, he carried it across the room and placed it at the feet of the low-seated high-priestess drawn up against the wall. “Am I dreaming?” she wondered aloud. “Am I?” he answered by asking. “Or do I see a tall, strong old man, with a shock of white hair and a laugh on his lips, raising a flag on yonder pole?” He removed the lid and she the contents of that crock of “fortune forevermore.” And thus was fulfilled one of the wild Westerner’s wishes—that he should not know until he had found the object of his search. Thus, through deeds and not words, he learned the nature of Granddad Lauderdale’s buried hoard. No helping of “a thousand on a plate,” as doughboy might have expected, did Jane serve from the pot. No stream of gold fell through her fingers, to puddle between them on the stone-flagged floor. No packets of bank-notes crinkled in her grasp. No king’s-ransom jewels blinked in the night-light after their long interment. Yet was the girl’s prediction proved true that he scarcely could believe at first the nature of their find. Stupidly he stared. Only slowly could his mind, face its surprise and its enormity. CHAPTER XXVII—“FORTUNE FOREVERMORE” At ten o’clock next morning a taxicab carrying three fares drew out of the Fifth Avenue “pass” and stopped before the Sturgis house. A woman and one of the men alighted. The second remained seated, his waiting rôle evidently prearranged, as the pair did not so much as nod back at him. Ascending the stone flight, they rang the front bell, as strangers might. In due time the door swung open.