of ever being able to see his folks again vanished like a puff of smoke
in the wind.

"Say, that makes me think of something," Steve broke out just then.

"About what?" asked Max, turning from his examination of the plain
footprint at the place where the unknown visitor had stood when reaching
up for the tempting half of a smoked ham.

"Those two men," the other went on to say.

"What about 'em?" asked Owen.

"I said they wore gray homespun clothes, didn't I, just like the
farmers, plenty of 'em, have around these diggings? Well, I've changed
my mind, boys. It just broke in on me that I saw somethin' flash every
time they moved this way and that. No, it wasn't the field glasses
either; but somethin' about their clothes. Brass buttons, I reckon,
boys! Them men might 'a' been wardens from the penitentiary, lookin' for
a prisoner that escaped some time ago!"

Steve drew himself up proudly, as though conscious of the fact that he
had hit upon a very plausible explanation of the mystery. Max was
evidently thinking it over, for his face seemed serious enough, to be
sure.

"That doesn't sound so much out of the way, Steve," he admitted. "Fact
is, it may be the very thing. Some of these guards have gray uniforms, I
believe; and they put brass buttons on the same, just to make them look
official-like. Yes, they wanted to get over here, and didn't have a