The three gold-seekers were indeed in the valley of treasure. A few hours of earnest work in the "pocket" revealed riches beyond account, and so infatuated did all become with the results of their labor that scarcely could the one detailed to the daily service of hunting for food take the time necessary to procure proper supplies. Nothing had occurred to disturb their intense labors, although more than once the hunter for the day had come across strange tracks in the vicinity of their golden bed, and the soul-sickening dread that assailed Robinson Crusoe, on his desert isle, now found a resting place in their hearts. They fancied this was the track of some malicious-minded enemy who was watching them with the intention of robbing the golden store that had grown daily more and more dear to them. A sad change had come over the trio. Their friends and loved ones would scarcely have recognized them, even after these few days of success. Pale, haggard, and hollow-eyed, they toiled on almost unceasingly, scarce speaking a word through the livelong day, even seeming suspicious of each other, sleeping fitfully, often awaking with a start as if from some haunting dream to glare at the spot where their treasure was hoarded away. A sad, sad change, and one that was daily growing more and more apparent. Day by day, hour by hour, the insidious _gold-fever_ was gaining in power over them, crushing out all generous thoughts, tightening its grasp upon their heart-strings, until scarce one trace of their former selves was left. Nearly a week had elapsed since their arrival at the valley of gold. It was night, and though the past day had been one of almost breathless toil, the three adventurers sat awake and sleepless, smoking their pipes in silence beneath the rude, frail shelter of vine-clad brush. All without was dark and dismal. The air was charged with electricity, and the comrades found it impossible to sleep. All nature seemed feverish and ill at ease. The moon was obscured; dense sulphurous masses of clouds swirled athwart the horizon in wild confusion. Low, sullen mutterings filled the air. A tempest was brewing. Silently smoking, the gold-hunters watched the play of the clouds. They seemed to care little for the result. What mattered it though they did get wet? The rain could not injure their golden treasure, and what else had they to care for? Nothing. Suddenly Paley Duplin sprung half erect, outstretching one hand as the pipe dropped unheeded at his feet. His voice sounded strangely excited, trembling violently. "My God! look yonder--that light!" Far up the bed of the one-time water-course, a light seemed slowly moving to and fro. This, of itself, in that lone and desolate spot, was enough to excite wonder. But it was the _shape_ the light gradually assumed as it drew nearer that caused Duplin agitation.