Naturally Thure and Bud were in high spirits, now that they were actually on their way to the marvelous Cave of Gold; and, boylike, they allowed no thoughts of the threatening perils from Ugger and Quinley and their band of cut-throats to trouble their minds or to distract their attention from the wonderful scenes constantly unfolding before them, as they advanced along the trail leading to Humbug Canyon, where something interesting or beautiful or both met their eyes each moment, no matter in what direction they looked. Now it was some wonderful formation of nature--great masses of rocks towering thousands of feet above their heads, picturesque little mountain-surrounded valleys, deep canyons and gulches and ravines and chasms, beautiful cascades of water plunging over precipitous cliffs to fall in a stream of sparkling jewels on the rocks at their base, or great forests of columnlike trees, or winding, murmuring, plunging, seething, turbulent little streams of water rushing furiously toward some far-off valley, and like marvels and beauties of nature. Again, in entering some little valley or ravine, they would come suddenly upon a picturesque little company of miners hard at work with picks and shovels and pans and cradles, searching for the elusive yellow grains of gold. Indeed, during that first afternoon, they found the miners everywhere, in the valleys, in the gulches and the ravines, along the streams, wherever there seemed the least prospect of finding gold, there these wild knights of the pick and the shovel were sure to be found; and, as they passed, the latest mining news would be shouted back and forth, enlivened with rude sallies of wit and merry well-wishes. Sometimes they would pause for a few minutes to talk with the miners and to watch them at their work; and, on one of these occasions, Thure and Bud saw, for the first time, a couple of miners at work with a cradle, as this queer machine used to separate the gold from the dirt is called. "I don't wonder it is called a cradle," Thure exclaimed, the moment he caught sight of the odd-looking contrivance. "Why, if it wasn't for that hopper on the upper end and the man shoveling dirt and pouring water into it, one would surely think that fellow was rocking his baby to sleep in its cradle. Can't we wait here a little while and watch them work it?" and Thure turned to his father. "The horses need a rest anyway." "Going to clean up soon?" Mr. Conroyal called to the men. "In about ten minutes," answered the shoveler. "And, I reckon, we can show some gold when we do. Won't you wait and see how it pans out?" he invited cordially. "Oh, do, please!" cried both the boys. "All right," assented Mr. Conroyal. "A rest won't hurt the horses, and I am sure the clean up will interest you boys." "Bully! Come on. Let's get closer," and Thure started on the run for the spot where the two men were working.