But the strain of this effort had been too much for the aged and feeble frame. No sooner was the excitement of the march at an end than a relapse occurred, and for a fortnight the old man hovered on the edge of death; skill and care seemed to conquer, however, and one morning peace came to the tortured brain and the old prospector began to get better. Now at last he was awake, with seeming intelligence in his eyes, asking where he was and who were the people around him. Tom explained and then questioned him in return. But the mystery was not to be so easily solved. The invalid could not tell his name, nor where he had come from. He said he had been prospecting all his life--where--how long--all particulars were a blank. “I can't remember anything but the cache--nothing else at all,” he declared, gazing piteously into one face after another. “Tell us about that, then.” He felt in his bosom and drew out the little pouch. It was opened for him and its contents--a fragment of quartz heavy with gold and a tiny steel key--taken out. “Ah! What do you call that?” he inquired eagerly, pointing to the yellow metal. “Gold.” “Yes? Well, there is lots of that in my cache.” “Where is your cache?” inquired Tom. The old fellow dropped his head and tried to think, but couldn't clutch any of the motes of memory dodging like phantasmagoria before his eyes. “I can't tell,” he confessed, with infinite sadness. “I reckon I'd know the place if I saw it. And I've forgotten everything before that, but it seems to me that I fell a great ways, and lay for years and years with an awful pain in my head. Then all at once my head got better and I opened my eyes--mebbe it was a dream--and there I and the dog were in a little camp 'way up a big gulch. I knew the place, but I felt kind o' weak and dizzy-like and 'lowed I'd make a cache o' all my stuff, and go down to Del Nort' and see a doctor. So I dug a hole beside a big rock that had a peculiar mark on it, and put into it most o' my grub and some papers, and a lot o' that yellow stuff--what d'ye call it?--and reckoned they'd be safe till I come back in three or four weeks. I can remember all about the cache and my camp there, and my leavin' it and climbin' down a devilish steep place, and there I stop and can't remember nothin' since.” This was absolutely all that was left of the man's memory, and, though he was now quite sane, he had to be taught the names and uses of many of the commonest objects. Moreover, he seemed to grow weaker instead of stronger, and after a few days the physician announced that his patient's end was near. When the old fellow was told this he called Tom to his bedside, and said to him: “Pardner, you've done the square thing by me, and I want you to have half the traps in that cache after I've passed in my checks, and give the other half to--to--oh, God! Now I can't remember!” Then his face brightened again.