“I haven’t learned what that is.” “Jes’ come back where he am, an’ I’ll soon larn you.” Inwood was apprehensive that the “gold trick,” so often referred to by his sable friend, meant something cruel, and he concluded it safer to restrain him. “Never mind about it now, Jim; I have a plan of my own.” “What’s dat?” “Let him go.” “You don’t mean dat?” “Yes, I do; although he is our enemy, and although his own people are barbarians, who are none too good to put us to the worst kind of torture, if they had us in their power; yet, we are Christians, and cannot do such a thing.” “Dunno but what you are right; fetch out de feller.” “Besides,” added Inwood, as he moved away, “it may change their feelings toward us. They know we have one of their number in our power, and, if we let him go unharmed, they will have less reason to look upon us as their enemies--this one at least will regard us as a friend.” The decision made, it was carried out without delay. The Mohave was led from the cave, carefully along the passage toward the opening. He evidently believed he was being conducted to his doom; he was as sullen and stoical as his race generally are at such times. Jim had rolled the boulder back, so as to afford him free egress, and Inwood, first taking him by the arm, motioned for him to retire. The aborigine did not comprehend his meaning, when his captor turned his face toward the opening, and gave him a gentle shove. This was a hint which could not be misunderstood, and he darted out in a twinkling, and disappeared. “Now, I will take a look and see whether there are any of them left,” said Inwood, as he stealthily followed the liberated Mohave. By this time it was growing dark, but objects for a considerable distance were quite distinct, and George Inwood made a thorough reconnoisance of the bed of the brook for several hundred yards up and down. At the end of a half hour, he returned with the pleasing word that the Mohaves had taken their departure. CHAPTER III. Having given this episode in the history of the gold hunters, it is necessary to take a look at events which came to pass a few months previous. One bleak day in the winter of 1857-8, a young man was walking slowly down Broadway, humming a lively tune in a mournful voice, and doing his utmost to keep up his spirits, which, just then, were at their lowest ebb. In the nature of things, the poor fellow could not be otherwise. While in the senior class in college, preparing for the ministry, and succeeding most brilliantly, he was summoned home to New York, just in time to receive his father’s dying blessing; his mother having fallen asleep several years before, he was thus left an orphan, with a younger brother to provide for. As his father had been a leading merchant in the great metropolis, there seemed to be little difficulty in this, and he assumed the control of affairs at once.