Seeing that he had his candles and matches ready, Dick began to descend. The other boys waited until he was down some distance and then followed. The ladder, as they could see, was built against the side of the shaft, and it was far enough away so that the ascending or descending bucket did not touch it. "Hold on!" cried Dick, from the dark depths. "I'm going to light a candle." Presently a faint gleam came up the shaft, and Tim and Frank could make out Dick's form standing below them on a rung of the ladder. They also lighted candles, and the descent continued. In about a minute Dick called again: "Easy now, fellows; I've struck bottom. Got down to the first level, I guess." In a little while Tim and Frank joined him. They found they were standing in a sort of cave, hollowed out under ground. Resting at the foot of the shaft was a big bucket, attached to the wire cable that extended to the hoisting drum. "Is dis all dere is to de mine?" asked Tim. "No, there seems to be a gallery leading off to no one knows where," replied Dick, pointing to a gloomy hole. "Come on, boys, I haven't seen any gold yet," and he waved his candle to and fro. It flickered over the rocky walls of the mine. They glistened with water that oozed from many crevices, but there was no glitter of the precious metal. The boys walked cautiously along the gallery, or tunnel, that extended at right angles to the perpendicular shaft. Suddenly, Dick, who was in the lead, stopped short. "Hush!" he exclaimed, in a whisper. "I hear voices." The boys listened. From somewhere in the darkness ahead of them came an indistinct murmur. "Come ahead, easy!" whispered the millionaire's son. They advanced on tiptoes. The murmur of voices became louder. Then, as the boys made a turn in the tunnel, a strange scene was suddenly presented to them. In a sort of cave, formed by the widening of the gallery, a number of men stood in a group. Several torches, stuck into cracks in the rocky wall, gave light. But, strangest of all, was the occupation of the men. One of them was stirring what seemed like a mass of mortar in a wooden box, such as masons use. Into it another was pouring from a sack, gleaming, golden, yellow particles, which, as the light gleamed on them, glittered like gold. "Seems like throwing the yellow stuff away," remarked the man who held the sack. "What of it. We'll get it back five times over," replied the one who, with a hoe, was stirring the stuff. "It's like planting gold in a garden. It grows, you know. This mine is our garden." "They're 'salting' the mine," whispered Dick to his companions. Off to one side another man was drilling holes in the soft rock. The musical clink of his hammer on the drill sounded faint and far off, so muffled was it.