"It ain't a bit strange," protested Jack, and he explained briefly who he was. When he had finished, Jed held out his hand. "Shake," he said. "That kid o' your'n is all right--grit clear through. Will he git well?" "Oh, he'll git well, all right." "Good!" cried Jed, his face brightening. "I've been worryin' about him considerable. How'd he git his ribs broke?" "One o' them fellers kicked him in th' side," explained Jack, and repeated the story he had heard from Mary. "Th' skunk!" said Jed, when he had finished, his face very dark. "Th' low-down skunk! I only wish I could git my hands on him fer about two minutes." "So do I," agreed Jack, his lips quivering. "That's why I came." Jed held out his hand again. "I'm with you!" he said. "We'll go on a little still-hunt of our own. I'd intended t' go by myself, but I'll be glad to hev you along." So Jack, provided with rifle and revolver, presently sallied forth beside his new friend. "No trace o' them yet?" he asked. "Not a trace," Jed answered. "It beats me. But one thing I'm sure of--it's possible that they managed t' slip through my lines, but they didn't take th' chest with 'em." "Then what did they do with it?" "That's what I'm a-goin' t' find out," said Jed, grimly. "It's somewhere here in these hills, an' I'm goin' t' find it if it takes ten years." And, indeed, after the first day's search, it seemed to Jack that it might easily take much longer than that. "There's one thing they might 'a' done with it," Jed remarked, as they turned homeward in the twilight. "They might 'a' shoved it up in some of th' old workin's around here. They're full o' fire-damp, o' course, an' no man could venture in them an' live, so I don't see jest how they'd work it. But to-morrer we'll take a look at 'em." So the next morning they set out, carrying, instead of rifles, a collection of ropes, candles, and lanterns, which Jed had procured from the mine. "I've got a plan of th' old workin's, too," he said. "There's some over on th' other side of th' hill which it ain't any use wastin' time on. Them fellers couldn't 'a' carried that chest over th' ridge, if they'd tried a month. But there's six or eight on this side. There's th' fust one, over yonder," and he pointed to a black hole in the hillside. "All of these old workin's," he went on, "are what they call drifts--that is, wherever they found th' coal croppin' out, they started in a tunnel, an' kept on goin' in till th' vein pinched out. Then they stopped and started another tunnel on th' next outcrop. They're all driven in on an incline, so they'll drain theirselves, an' as soon as th' company stopped pumpin' air into them, they probably filled up with gas, so we've got t' be mighty careful." He clambered up to the mouth of the tunnel and peered into it cautiously. "Can't see nothin'," he said. "Let's try fer gas." He took from his pocket a leather bag, from which he extracted a little ball of cotton saturated in oil.