"Is he your nephew, Mr. Nixon?" asked one of the miners. "I don't know. He says he is." "Certainly I am. I am his brother's son." "That doesn't entitle you to rob him." "I only borrowed the gold. I meant to pay it back." "That's a likely story. Bring him along." They left the cabin with Ralph between them, and proceeded at once to the store kept by Joe Loche. In five minutes their numbers were increased till the original two had swelled to twenty-five or thirty. "What has he done?" asked one of the new members. "Been stealing gold from old man Nixon. We caught him in the act." "It's mighty dangerous for a thief round here, stranger," said Joe Loche. "What have you got to say for yourself?" "He can't say anything. We found the gold in his pocket." "Boys," said Chris Nelson, who was generally looked up to as a leader in the settlement, "you hear what is said against this man. What shall be his fate?" "Hang him!" was the laconic response of half a dozen. "No, no!" shrieked the affrighted wretch, "I only took the gold in joke." "Then we'll hang you in joke." "Oh, don't hang me! I ain't fit to die." "I guess that's right," said Chris Nelson. "Get a rope—a good, strong rope, and we'll hang him to yonder tree." They began to drag him to a tree on a small knoll two hundred yards away. He shrieked and howled with fear till all were sickened with his pusillanimity. Finally, on his promise to leave the settlement and never return, they commuted his punishment to a lashing on his bare back, in which all eagerly took part. When it was over the repentant rogue crawled away, bruised and sore. Seldom has retribution been so swift. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXIII NEW ARRANGEMENTS GERALD remained after the others left the cabin. The old man looked at him inquiringly. "I don't think I know you," he said. "Do you live in the village?" "No, sir. I was sent here from the East." Thomas Nixon looked puzzled. "Are you going to school?" "No, sir. I was sent here to see you." "To see me? I don't understand." "Do you remember writing a letter to Mr. John Nugent, of Portville?" "Yes; but surely——" "I have a copy of your letter here, which I will show you. You wished Mr. Nugent to send a messenger to represent him and assist you in any way you might desire." "But," exclaimed the old man, in astonishment, "I didn't expect him to send a boy." "This letter will explain to you why he sent me." "Read it to me. I cannot see without my glasses." Gerald drew the letter from the envelope, and read as follows: "MR. NIXON,