Under the teaching of his father and Hank Tims, Sam had become a skillful gold miner, that is, so far as panning out the gravel and collecting the gold were concerned. The fact that he was the prospective heir to a large fortune did not unfit him for work this morning. With Ike he went up to the sluices immediately after his father left, and until the sun was in mid-heaven they worked, shoveling gravel into the cradle and rocking it under the water, and only stopping to pick out the nuggets and yellow dust and scales that rewarded their effort every hour. By means of an old-fashioned horn, Wah Shin summoned them to dinner. Of the fresh meat he had made pies that would have tempted an invalid’s appetite. And, as the boys ate, sitting before the entrance to the cave, the Chinaman’s face fairly glowed with delight at the evidence of his excellent cooking. "Ven’zon pie belly good," chuckled Wah Shin, as he produced a second when the first had vanished. "But man eatee too muchee, den get mebbe sick." "Dat ar edvice is ’tended foh Mistah Sam," laughed Ike, as he helped himself again. "But vanzon pie an’ 'possums are two tings I ain’t nebber got my fill ob up to dis time." Sam heard but did not heed the talk of his companions, for his attention was at the moment attracted to two strange men who were slowly making their way down the trail on the opposite side of the cañon wall. As there was danger from prowling bands of Indians who had left the reservation, and also from white outlaws who frequently robbed weak mining camps, every one at Gold Cave Camp strapped on a belt, with a knife and pistols in it, as regularly as he pulled on his boots. Starting to his feet and followed by Ike, Sam went down to the stream, getting there just as the two men reached the bottom. One of the strangers was a tall, dark-bearded man, with one eye, and the other was a short, yellow-skinned man with a mean expression of face, whom Sam recognized as his cousin, Frank Shirley. Sam had never spoken to this man, so he did not greet him like an acquaintance now. Both men were well armed, as is the fashion of the country, and when they came within hailing distance, Frank Shirley called out: "Hello, young man, is this Mr. Willett’s camp?" "It is, sir," was Sam’s reply, as he came to a halt. "Is Mr. Willett home?" "He is not." "Where is he?" "He has gone to Hurley’s Gulch." "When did he leave?" "This morning." "Ah, I’m sorry I missed him. When do you expect him back?" "In a few days. Won’t you come over and have some dinner?" asked Sam, waving his hand in the direction of the plateau, on which Wah Shin was visible. "Thank you; no. We are going on to Hurley’s Gulch, and are in a great hurry," said Frank Shirley, turning and whispering to his companion, who nodded vigorously in response. "Who shall I say called?" asked Sam, as the two men turned to ascend the trail. "Friends," was the laconical reply.