When Old Cy emerged from the cave, his face glorified and heart throbbing with the blessings now his to give Chip, he looked about with almost fear. The two abandoned canoes and the trusty rifle had seemed an assurance of tragic import, and yet no proof of this outlaw’s death. That this cave had been his lair, could not be doubted; and so momentous was this discovery, and so anxious was Old Cy to rescue this fortune, that he trembled with a sudden dread.

But no sign of human presence met his sweeping look.

The lake still rippled and smiled in the sunlight. Two deer, a buck and doe, were feeding on the rush-grown shore just across, while at his feet that rusty rifle still uttered its fatal message.

Once more Old Cy glanced all about, and then entered the cave again. Here, in the dim light and with trembling hands, he filled the cans once more, and almost staggering, so faint was he from excitement, he hurried to the canoe, and packing them in its bow, covered the precious cargo with his blanket.

Then he ran like a deer back to the cave, closed it with the slab, grasped his rifle, and not even looking at the rusty one, bounded down the path to his canoe again, launched it, and pushed off.

Never before had it seemed so frail a craft. And now, as he swung its prow around toward the outlet, a curious object met his eyes.

Far up the lake, and where no ripple concealed it, lay what looked like a floating log, clasped by a human arm.

What intuition led him hither, Old Cy never could explain, for escape from the lake was now his sole thought. And yet, with one sweep of his paddle, he turned his canoe and sped across the lake. And now, as he neared this object, it slowly outlined itself, and he saw a grewsome sight,–two bloated corpses grasping one another as if in a death grapple. One had hair of bronze red, the other a hideously scarred face with lips drawn and teeth exposed.

Hate, Horror, and Death personified.

Only for a moment did Old Cy glance at this ghastly sight, and then he turned again and sped back across the lake.The bright sun still smiled calm and serene, the morning breeze still kissed the blue water, the two deer still watched him with curious eyes; but he saw them not–only the winsome face and appealing eyes of Chip as he last beheld them.

And now in the prow of his canoe lay her fortune, her heritage, which was, after all, but scant return for all the shame and stigma so far meted out to her.

It was almost sunset ere Old Cy, his nerves still quivering and wearied as never before, crossed the little lake and breathed a sigh of heart-felt gratitude as he drew his canoe out on the sandy shore near the ice-house. No one was in sight, nor likely to be. A thin column of smoke rising from the cabin showed that the hermit was still on earth, and now for the first time, Old Cy sat down and considered his plans for the near future.

First and foremost, not a soul, not even his old trusted companion here, not even Martin, or Angie, and certainly not Ray, must learn what had now come into his possession. Neither must his journey to this far-off lake or aught he had learned there be disclosed.

But how was he to escape from the woods and these people, soon to arrive for their summer sojourn? And what if Chip herself should come? Two conclusions forced themselves upon him now: first, he must so conceal the fortune that none of these friends even could suspect its presence; next, he must by some pretext leave here as soon as Martin and his party arrived, and cease not his watchful care until Chip’s heritage was safe in some bank in her name.

And now, with so much of his future moves decided upon, he hurried to the cabin, greeted Amzi, urged him to hasten supper, and, securing a shovel, returned to his canoe.

In five minutes the cans of gold were buried deep in the sand, not two feet from where the half-breed had once landed, and upon Old Cy’s person the bills found concealment. How much it all amounted to, he had not even guessed, nor scarce thought. To secure it and bear it safely away from this now almost accursed lake had been his sole thought, and must be until locks and bolts could guard it better. That night Old Cy hardly slept a moment.

And now began days of waiting and watching, the slow course of which he had never before known. He dared not leave the cabin except to fish close by and within sight of the one focal point of his interest. Each midday, for not sooner would the expected ones be apt to arrive, he began to watch the lake’s outlet, and ceased not this vigil until darkness came. A dozen times a day he covertly visited the ice-house to be certain no alien footprints had been stamped upon the sand near his buried treasure, and had the hermit been an alert and normal man, he must have noticed Old Cy’s strange conduct.

This burden of care also began to haunt his sleep, and in it he saw the open cave, and himself watched by vicious, leering faces. Once he saw those ghastly corpses still clasped together, but hovering over him, and then awoke with a sense of horror.

A worse dream than this came later, for in it he saw the half-breed creeping along the lake’s shore, and then, stooping where the gold was buried, he began to dig, at which Old Cy sprang from his bed in sudden terror.

“I’ll go crazy if I don’t git rid o’ that money ’fore long,” he said to himself; and the next day another place of concealment occurred to him.

There was, beneath the new cabin, a small cellar entered through a trap-door. It was some ten feet square, and had been used to store potatoes, pork, and the like. To carry out his new plan, which was to hide the gold in this cellar, it became necessary to keep Amzi out of sight until its transfer was made. That was an easy task, for Amzi, docile as a child, was sent out on the lake to fish, and then Old Cy, hastily constructing a bag of deerskin, hurried to the beach, dug up the treasure, poured the glittering coin into this bag, hid it in the cellar, nailed the trap-door down, and that night slept better.

Two days after, just as the sun was nearing the mountain top, Martin, Angie, Levi, and Ray entered the lake.

How grateful both Old Cy and Amzi were for their arrival, how eagerly they grasped hands with them at the landing, and how like two boys Martin and Ray behaved needs no description.

All that had happened in Greenvale was soon told. Chip’s conduct and progress were related by Angie. Ray’s plans to remain here another winter were disclosed by him; and then, when the cheerful party had gathered about the evening fire, Martin touched upon another matter.

“I met Hersey as we were coming in,” he said, “and he says that neither McGuire nor the half-breed has been seen or heard of since early last fall. Hersey came in early this spring with one of his deputies; they visited a half-dozen lumber camps, called twice at Tim’s Place, and even went over to Pete’s cabin on the Fox Hole, but nowhere could they learn anything of these two men. More than that, no canoe was found at Pete’s hut, and there was no sign of occupation at all this past winter. Nothing could be learned from Tim, either, although not much was expected from that source. It is all a most mysterious disappearance, and the last that we can learn of Pete was his arrival and departure from Tim’s Place after we rescued Chip.”

“I think both on ’em has concluded this section was gittin’ too warm for ’em,” remarked Levi, “an’ they’ve lit out.”

“It’s good riddance if they have,” answered Old Cy, “an’ I’m sartin none on us’ll ever set eyes on ’em agin.”

And Old Cy spoke the truth, for none of this party ever did. In fact, no human being, except himself and Martin, ever learned the secret that this mountain-hid lake could tell.

But another matter now began to interest Old Cy–how Ray and Chip stood in their mutual feelings. That all was not as he wished, Old Cy soon guessed from Ray’s face and actions, and he was not long in verifying it.

“Wal, how’d ye find the gal?” he said to Ray when the chance came. “Was she glad to see ye?”“Why, yes,” answered Ray, looking away, “she appeared to be. I wasn’t in Greenvale but two weeks, you know.”

“Saw her ’most every evenin’ durin’ that time, I s’pose?”

“No, not every one,” returned Ray, vaguely; “her school hadn’t closed when I got home, and she studied nights, you see.”

Old Cy watched Ray’s face for a moment.

“I ain’t pryin’ into yer love matters,” he said at last, “but as I’m on your side, I’d sorter like to know how it’s progressin’. Wa’n’t thar nothin’ said ’tween ye–no sort o’ promise, ’fore ye come ’way?”

“No, nothing of that sort,” answered Ray, looking confused, “though we parted good friends, and she sent her love to you. I’m afraid Chip don’t quite like Greenvale.”

Old Cy made no answer, though a smothered “hum, ha” escaped him at the disclosure of what he feared.

“I wish ye’d sorter clinched matters ’fore ye left,” he said, after a pause; “that is, if ye’re callatin’ to be here ’nother winter. It’s ’most too long to keep a gal guessin’; ’sides, ’tain’t right.”

Ray, however, made no defence, in fact, seemed guilty and confused, so Old Cy said no more.A few days later he made a proposal that astonished Martin.

“I’ve been here now ’bout two years,” he said, “an’ I’m gittin’ sorter oneasy. I callate ye kin spare me a couple o’ weeks.”

No intimation of his real errand escaped him, and so adroitly had he laid his plans and timed his movements, that when his canoe was packed and he bade them good-bye, no one suspected how valuable a cargo it carried.

But Old Cy was more than “sorter oneasy,” for the only spot where he dared close his eyes in sleep during that three days’ journey out of the wilderness was in his canoe, with his head pillowed on that precious gold.