“Able to stant it,” mused the father; “yes, I vill stant it, and vork mein fingers to de pone, to find de golt, so I can find mein Dora!” CHAPTER XII. Two weeks passed by after the little party of Morris, Helen, Bennie and Loney had gone to the mine designated on the paper which had been given to Morris. These two weeks would outweigh a year in any other place or time. Every morning found Morris at work, digging with pick and shovel, but he made no progress, for either he had not reached the proper place or there was not the gold that “Cactus Bill” had thought there was, something that happens with the most experienced miners sometimes. There being no money to purchase food with, and no handy market, it fared badly with the novices in mining. Helen went out early every morning and returned late at night with her gun, but it would seem as if all the game in the mountains had left for another State, for she found next to nothing, and the little camp was rapidly becoming the abode of hunger--gaunt and grim. The shoemaker sat down by the side of the place where he had been digging and wiped the drops of perspiration from his brow as he said to Loney, who was always by his side: “It’s no use, Loney, ve haf vorked two weeks, and fount nodings at all. It is entless, and all ve get is tired. I vork so hart vot I can, und mit efery blow I pray to de good Gott to show me de golt. But I fint it not. Und ven I fint it not, I nefer fint mein Dora! Here I am mit you und Bennie in dis strange landt, mitout moneys, mitout home, and hungry. All ve haf left is von small piece of dry bread.” “And I am so hungry, Mr. Goldberg; so very, very hungry! Is it almost time to eat?” “Yes, Loney, it is time. Vait a minute und I vill go by the ice-chest und get de dinner. Don’t worry, Loney, de Bennie and de Helen dey both haf gone to hunt for de game mit deir guns, und sure dey get someding dis time.” “They went yesterday, too, and didn’t bring anything back. Why don’t you send to the store for something?” “Oh, mein boy, dere is not a store mithin a hundred miles avay, und if dere pe von I haf no money. I must fint de golt--I must fint it. If dere vos efen a telegraph-line--but how could I telegraph for somedings to eat? Vell, vait, Loney, till I bring de breat.” This argument, so convincing to the old man, was not at all so to the child. But his docile mind made him rely upon the words of Mr. Goldberg like on the rising of the sun--a certainty. The shoemaker went to the shack and soon returned with a quarter of a loaf of stale bread. He looked at it sadly, saying the while: “Oh, my! oh, my! The bakers must be on a strike; eh, Loney? There isn’t much, und ve must divide it up into four parts, for dere must pe somedings for de Bennie und de Helen, if dey come back mitout anyding again.” “I’m awful glad it is time to eat, for I am so hungry. This is the first bite we’ve had since yesterday.”