"Here is where he is hanging out," Mark told himself. "I'll remember that." The boy went back to where he had left his mule and soon found shelter for himself and the animal. Early in the morning he went back to White Rock Gulch with his stock of provisions. Mark had long since acquainted all of his companions with his past history and each believed thoroughly in his innocence. All listened with interest to the story he had to tell about Morgan Fitzsimmons. "I want to know what you would do if you were in my place," said he, after he had finished. "I am satisfied in my own mind that he is the rascal who robbed my step-father." "But what proof have you got, Mark?" asked Maybe Dixon. "You can't have a man arrested unless you have proof against him." "I haven't any proof excepting that I saw him coming down the stairs." "Did anybody else see him?" asked Bob. "I do not know, but I think not." "Then I don't see what you can do," went on Maybe Dixon. "In a court of law his word is as good as yours, commonly speaking, although the fact that he is a gambler may go against him." "And a swindler--if you can prove that," put in Si. They talked the matter over whenever they got the chance that day, but reached no conclusion of value. Then Mark cooled down a little, and resolved to let the matter rest for a while. "But I'll tell you what I am going to do," he said, suddenly. "I am going to write to my step-father and let him know where I am and how I am getting along, and I'll tell him all I know about this Morgan Fitzsimmons. Then if he wants to do anything, let him go ahead, and I'll help him all I can." "Maybe he will get after you for running away," said Maybe Dixon. "I am not afraid of him any more," answered Mark. "I think he will let me alone when he learns how well I am doing--especially if I promise not to bother him about a settlement of my heritage." The whole party was doing very well at White Rock Gulch. On the day that Mark went away Bob found several fair-sized nuggets, and when Mark went to work he came across a pocket containing several nuggets as big as peas. Then Si and Maybe Dixon capped the good fortune by finding twin nuggets, one fitting into the other, and both together worth not less than four hundred dollars. "Talk about getting rich!" cried the former farm boy. "Say, this beats hoeing corn all to pieces," and he danced a jig for joy. "If only our good fortune keeps up," said Bob, with his face on a broad grin. "Well, it seems to be keeping up," said Mark. "At this rate we'll have quite a pile laid by when winter comes." "Don't mention winter yet!" exclaimed Si. "I don't want to think of giving up digging gold. It's too much fun!" CHAPTER XXVI MARK'S SICKNESS A few days later Mark was working hard at the bottom of a deep hole, with the hot sun blazing down upon him when he suddenly felt queer in his head. He staggered and leaned up against the dirt.