“I wish I was ten years younger and free-footed,” said Mr. Tucker, at last. “I'd pull out of here to-morrow, blamed if I wouldn't.” The editor laughed softly. He was like a man rousing from a dream. “Nonsense! Luck won't be for one in a hundred; perhaps not for one in a thousand.” “I'd run the risk, Cap; and if I found any of that dust, I wouldn't sleep or eat or drink, until I'd fished it out of the soil.” “What will be my chance at making up a company here?” asked Rogers, and now he addressed himself to the Landrays. He recognized in their silence a deeper interest than that manifested by either Mr. Tucker or Captain Gibbs. “Are you really in earnest about going back?” asked Bushrod Landray, curiously. Rogers drew his tall form erect. “I allow there's just about two thousand miles of go left in me, Mister,” he said. “And you think you could pilot a wagon train across the plains?” asked Stephen. “You give me the chance to show what I can do—that's all I ask. Of course, I see now, I must have been clean crazy to leave the Coast when it took my last dollar, but I ain't fit for heavy work any more; I go shut like a clasp-knife; and I was near about wild to be with some of my own kin.” “You may be able to make up a party here,” said Stephen. “If you are wise, you will take your brother home, Bush!” said Gibbs. Stephen turned to him: “Don't you see it would not be necessary for me to go to California to share in a speculation of this sort?” “No, I can't see it Landray.” “A company could be organized. Whoever wished to, could take shares in the venture; there would be little or no difficulty in finding men to go and do the actual work of digging for the gold.” “Have you any scheme to propose that would guarantee a fair division of the profits in the event of there being any?” asked the captain. Landray smiled slightly. “There would be no trouble about that,” he said hastily. “For, of course, we would only send men in whom we had the fullest confidence; and the returns could be made regularly by ship, by way of the Horn—” “The small end of it,” suggested Gibbs, lightly. Mr. Tucker laughed boistrously at this sally, but neither of the Landrays smiled. Gibbs yawned. “I think we had all better go home and sleep on it,” he said. “You're right, so we should,” said Stephen. He turned to Rogers. “I'd like to see you again, there are some questions I want to ask you. You'll be here for a while, I suppose?” “There ain't any time to waste if you mean business,” urged Rogers eagerly. “No, I suppose not; but I don't know that I do mean business. You must not take my interest too seriously, and yet—” Gibbs slipped his arm through Stephen's. “Oh, come along! you will wake up sane in the morning. Good-night, Tucker. Goodnight, Mr. Rogers. Coming, Bush?” CHAPTER FIVE A YOUNG man in a dusty road-cart drawn by a sedate and comfortable looking horse, turned in between the tall whitewashed posts at the foot of Landray's Lane.