"Yes, yes, I guess so," assented the dentist. "There ain't any gold here."
"Yes, there is," protested Cribbens doggedly; "there's gold all through these hills, if we could only strike it. I tell you what, pardner, I got a place in mind where I'll bet no one ain't prospected--least not very many. There don't very many care to try an' get to it. It's over on the other side of Death Valley. It's called Gold Mountain, an' there's only one mine been located there, an' it's paying like a nitrate bed. There ain't many people in that country, because it's all hell to get into. First place, you got to cross Death Valley and strike the Armagosa Range fur off to the south.
Well, no one ain't stuck on crossing the Valley, not if they can help it. But we could work down the Panamint some hundred or so miles, maybe two hundred, an' fetch around by the Armagosa River, way to the south'erd. We could prospect on the way. But I guess the Armagosa'd be dried up at this season. Anyhow," he concluded, "we'll move camp to the south to-morrow. We got to get new feed an' water for the horses. We'll see if we can knock over a couple of antelope to-morrow, and then we'll scoot."
"I ain't got a gun," said the dentist; "not even a revolver.
I--"
"Wait a second," said Cribbens, pausing in his scramble down the side of one of the smaller gulches. "Here's some slate here; I ain't seen no slate around here yet. Let's see where it goes to."
McTeague followed him along the side of the gulch. Cribbens went on ahead, muttering to himself from time to time:
"Runs right along here, even enough, and here's water too.
Didn't know this stream was here; pretty near dry, though.
Here's the slate again. See where it runs, pardner?"
"Look at it up there ahead," said McTeague. "It runs right up over the back of this hill."
"That's right," assented Cribbens. "Hi!" he shouted suddenly, "HERE'S A 'CONTACT,' and here it is again, and there, and yonder. Oh, look at it, will you? That's grano- diorite on slate. Couldn't want it any more distinct than that. GOD! if we could only find the quartz between the two now."
"Well, there it is," exclaimed McTeague. "Look on ahead there; ain't that quartz?"
"You're shouting right out loud," vociferated Cribbens, looking where McTeague was pointing. His face went suddenly pale. He turned to the dentist, his eyes wide.
"By God, pardner," he exclaimed, breathlessly. "By God--" he broke off abruptly.
"That's what you been looking for, ain't it?" asked the dentist.
"LOOKING for! LOOKING for!" Cribbens checked himself . "That's SLATE all right, and that's grano- diorite, I know"--he bent down and examined the rock--
"and here's the quartz between 'em; there can't be no mistake about that. Gi' me that hammer," he cried, excitedly. "Come on, git to work. Jab into the quartz with your pick; git out some chunks of it." Cribbens went down on his hands and knees, attacking the quartz vein furiously.
The dentist followed his example, swinging his pick with enormous force, splintering the rocks at every stroke.
Cribbens was talking to himself in his excitement.
"Got you THIS time, you son of a gun! By God! I guess we got you THIS time, at last. Looks like it, anyhow.
GET a move on, pardner. There ain't anybody 'round, is there? Hey?" Without looking, he drew his revolver and threw it to the dentist. "Take the gun an' look around, pardner. If you see any son of a gun ANYWHERE, PLUG him. This yere's OUR claim. I guess we got it THIS tide, pardner. Come on." He gathered up the chunks of quartz he had broken out, and put them in his hat and started towards their camp. The two went along with great strides, hurrying as fast as they could over the uneven ground.
"I don' know," exclaimed Cribbens, breathlessly, "I don' want to say too much. Maybe we're fooled. Lord, that damn camp's a long ways off. Oh, I ain't goin' to fool along this way. Come on, pardner." He broke into a run.
McTeague followed at a lumbering gallop. Over the scorched, parched ground, stumbling and tripping over sage-brush and sharp-pointed rocks, under the palpitating heat of the desert sun, they ran and scrambled, carrying the quartz lumps in their hats.
"See any 'COLOR' in it, pardner?" gasped Cribbens. "I can't, can you? 'Twouldn't be visible nohow, I guess.
Hurry up. Lord, we ain't ever going to get to that camp."
Finally they arrived. Cribbens dumped the quartz fragments into a pan.
"You pestle her, pardner, an' I'll fix the scales."
McTeague ground the lumps to fine dust in the iron mortar while Cribbens set up the tiny scales and got out the "spoons" from their outfit.
"That's fine enough," Cribbens exclaimed, impatiently. "Now we'll spoon her. Gi' me the water."
Cribbens scooped up a spoonful of the fine white powder and began to spoon it carefully. The two were on their hands and knees upon the ground, their heads close together, still panting with excitement and the exertion of their run.
"Can't do it," exclaimed Cribbens, sitting back on his heels, "hand shakes so. YOU take it, pardner. Careful, now."
McTeague took the horn spoon and began rocking it gently in his huge fingers, sluicing the water over the edge a little at a time, each movement washing away a little more of the powdered quartz. The two watched it with the intensest eagerness.
"Don't see it yet; don't see it yet," whispered Cribbens, chewing his mustache. "LEETLE faster, pardner.
That's the ticket. Careful, steady, now; leetle more, leetle more. Don't see color yet, do you?"
The quartz sediment dwindled by degrees as McTeague spooned it steadily. Then at last a thin streak of a foreign substance began to show just along the edge. It was yellow.
Neither spoke. Cribbens dug his nails into the sand, and ground his mustache between his teeth. The yellow streak broadened as the quartz sediment washed away. Cribbens whispered:
"We got it, pardner. That's gold."
McTeague washed the last of the white quartz dust away, and let the water trickle after it. A pinch of gold, fine as flour, was left in the bottom of the spoon.
