"No doubt at all about it being slippery elm," replied Phil confidently. "Only trouble is, it's not the best season for gathering it. Ought to be taken in spring when the sap is flowing. The inside of the bark is just the slipperiest thing then you ever saw." "Twenty-six cents a pound. I remember the quotation we saw in the paper as if it were only yesterday," observed Jones delightedly. "S'pose there must be just hundreds of pounds in the trees right around here, Phil. Won't weigh so much when it's dry though!" he added, his spirits falling slightly. "Only the inner bark is good, but even at that," Phil returned with satisfaction, "even at that, we could gather a perfect stack of it in almost no time. Won't Billy and Dave be glad?" Carefully noting all surroundings,--the distance from the creek, the bare knob or point on the hill yonder and various other landmarks,--that they might easily find the place again, the two boys in due time continued on. With them they carried extensive samples of their discovery and both watched eagerly for more trees of the same kind while pushing forward. But they did not forget they had other things for which to search. They cautioned each other they must be as painstaking as to this as they had been before. How Worth and MacLester had been faring meanwhile may be told more briefly, though they were even more fortunate. That part of the woods penetrated by them lay quite dry and high. There was less underbrush than on the lower levels. The saws and axes of the logging crews had scarcely touched this portion of the forest. All was in quite the same wild state as it had been a hundred years before. Dave and Billy came upon a shack of brush piled over some supporting poles late in the afternoon. Some hunter had erected the shelter the preceding winter, perhaps. In any event, with its bed of leaves and abundant shade, it offered a good place to have lunch and to rest. Leaving their tools here, then, the boys descended into a valley beyond to find water. There was a small brook there but its bed was quite dry. "Good thing we have that bottle of cold coffee," observed Billy. "It'll do for now. We'll get water sometime, or--" His sentence was never finished. Suddenly his eyes had fallen upon a low, broad-leafed plant. He gazed steadfastly for a few seconds. Then Dave saw what it was that had so unexpectedly arrested Worth's attention and-- "Ginseng!" he exclaimed. "Sure it's ginseng! I've seen the cultivated kind!" "I just happened to catch sight of it! Wasn't watching out for anything just then at all!" said Billy excitedly. "And here's some more!" cried MacLester in similar tones. "Here, too,--a lot more! Six dollars a pound for it! Hurrah for us!" And Billy ran for a spade. He wanted to make sure the plants had the forked roots usually characteristic of ginseng. "Now, Bill Worth, don't you go to counting any chickens before they're hatched!" answered Dave. "There'll be some drawback, somewhere."