Three miners, one an old veteran who had hunted the veins of a dozen bonanzas, and two younger men, camped one night in the Pass of Jamasha. When the supper had been cleared away, pipes were drawn and the old miner told the time-honored tale of the Mystical Maid of Jamasha. The young men laughed. The old miner rolled up his blanket, shaking his hoary head and refusing to spend the night in the haunted pass. Dick Whiting was awakened by a falling stone. Gazing up the mountain side he beheld a beautiful girl. Arrayed in tattered garments, waving her arms to him from a lofty rocky pinnacle. With eyes fastened on the phantom, he rose and followed her up the path, she preceding, mocking, beckoning. He met her at a tree, reached out his arms for her when suddenly to his terror, she vanished into the air. Jim Billings was awakened by a soft pressure on his arm. Suddenly aroused, he stared with mingled awe and fear at the spectacle of a beautiful woman close behind him. She rose and he followed her rapidly up the mountain. Here they met Dick gazing blankly about him, but the phantom had disappeared. The men parted, saying to each other that they would no longer seek this elusive shadow. But hardly had they parted when both retraced their steps, hoping once more to see the vision. Dick found her, sat beside her on a great rock looking into her eyes. Jim saw him there and they grappled, Dick falling down the mountain side to destruction. Appalled, with a nameless fear in his heart, Jim looked about him. There she stood, beckoning, waving him to her. He followed, hurried after her over mountain and ravine until he had fallen, dying by a silver stream that trickled through the rock. Looking up he saw her, this elusive shadow, smiling at him, beckoning, nodding welcome, waving him to her, until his face fell forward on the rock.