Gold had been there. Of that he had no doubt whatever. But the placer had been mined,--gutted and abandoned. He apprehended at once the truth; that here was an underground stream, one of the sunken rivers for which the desert country is famous--that, or a small branch of a sunken river. There must be some other point of ingress, one of which Grandfather King had no knowledge. Some one had come in by the other route and had taken the gold. The work had been done systematically, by miners who knew what they were about. A glance at the workings told him that. Rawley turned his light down the stream. As far as its rays could pierce the dark of the cavern, the placer workings extended. He went on, following the windings of the stream and its natural tunnel. Now that he had discovered his grandfather’s potential riches, the legacy which he had confidently believed was a fortune, Rawley was determined to see just where the watercourse would lead him. He thought that he must have followed it for a mile or more, although it could have been farther. All the way along, the gravel had been worked and the gold taken out. A suspicion had been growing in his mind, and quite suddenly it crystallized into certainty. He walked into a larger cavern, the full extent of which he could not see from that point. There he stopped and considered. Near at hand, all around him, black cans were piled. He did not need the second glance to tell him what it was he had run into. Here was the secret hoard of black powder which the Cramers had been gathering together for years. Here was the powder that would, in the space of a breath, tear down two mountain sides and halt the flow of a great river,--if what they hoped and dreamed should come to pass. The Cramers, then, had taken the gold which Grandfather King had discovered. Here was a part of it, no doubt, transformed into tons of explosive. Rawley’s grin was sardonic as he surveyed the piled cans. It would be a bitter ending for their quest that he must show to Johnny Buffalo, he thought. He walked on slowly and halted suddenly when a light showed ahead. Some one was coming toward him, and Rawley instinctively snapped off his light and moved to one side. War habits were still strong upon him, and in any case he would not trust the Cramers. Presently he saw that it was Peter, and called to him and went forward. Peter was astonished, but he was also glad to see Rawley. “I meant to walk over to your place this evening,” he explained. “We’re so busy, right now--” “With the dam?” Rawley sat down on a keg of powder, started to roll a cigarette and remembered that it might not be wise. “Yes. We’re loading her as fast as we can. It’s a big job, and the old man is getting fractious over the delay.” Peter sat down on another keg and took off his hat, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. “It’s going to be a blistering day outside. Seems like an ice-box in here. How did you come?” Then Rawley told him.