He walked round to the door, and without the ceremony of knocking, opened it and made his way into the cabin. Thomas Nixon looked up, and seemed alarmed when he saw the intruder. "Who are you?" he asked, in a thin, quavering voice. It was natural that he should be alarmed, for a western mining settlement has generally its share of rough and unscrupulous men, social outlaws, who have made their way thither in search of gain or booty. "Don't be alarmed, Uncle Thomas," said Ralph, in a reassuring tone. "I am your nephew Ralph, come from the East to look after you." "I know of no Ralph. Whose son are you?" "My father is Gideon Nixon." "My oldest brother?" "Yes." "How did you know where I lived?" "A man came to Stamford who had been here. Learning my name, he told us he knew a man named Nixon out here. He said you were old and feeble, and father thought I had better come out and look you up." "It wasn't worth while. I am a poor old man, and I can do you no good." "Are you poor?" asked Ralph, his tone betraying his disappointment. "Look around you and judge for yourself," returned the old man, eying his nephew with a glance of mingled curiosity and shrewdness. "I was told in the village that you were interested in some mines." "My affairs are known only to myself. If you have come out to help me and supply my old age with comfort, it is a kind and charitable object." Ralph was much disturbed by these words. He was very much afraid that his uncle was nearly as poor as he claimed. In that case his errand would be bootless. But, looking about him with a feeling of discontent, his eye fell on a tin box such as may be found in grocery stores filled with crackers. "I'll find out what there is in that box," he decided. Without answering the old man, he rose, and moving toward the box, lifted the lid. "What are you doing?" asked Mr. Nixon, in alarm. Ralph did not answer. He had something else to think of. The box was a third full of glittering gold pieces, upon which he gazed as if fascinated. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXII THE TABLES ARE TURNED RALPH NIXON burst into a laugh. "I see you are very poor, uncle," he said. "It is a feast for sore eyes to see these piles of yellow darlings." And he took out a handful and eyed them lovingly. "Let them alone! Shut the box!" cried the old man, in agitation and alarm. "How many may I take, uncle?" asked Ralph. "None, you thief!" "Don't call me hard names, dear Uncle Thomas," said the young man, mockingly. "Don't forget that I am your nephew." "I don't know whether you are or not. Shut up the box, I say." "You are an old man. You can't live long. This money won't do you any good. You won't live to enjoy it. Give me half." And as he spoke he deposited in his pocket the handful of coins he had already taken.