"Ay, it's gold, sure enough," was Mackay's verdict, when he had glanced at it, "and it weighs fully an ounce if I'm any judge. Jack, my boy, ye'll beat us a' at this game yet. That's five pounds ye've made in the time it would take to blink an eye. You'll mak' a grand prospector, Jack. Put that bit in your pocket, and keep it aye as a memento; you'll think a lot o' it afterwards."
"But it's really yours," said the lad, refusing to take it back. "I'm not going to take everything of yours and keep all I get too."
Poor Jack was embarrassed. His was one of those generous natures which can never forget a kindness, and Mackay had behaved more like a brother than a mere friend.
"I agree with you, Jack," ventured Bob.
"Tut, tut, laddies," grunted Mackay, "we're goin' to be partners wi' equal shares—and from what I can see already I think I'm vera fortunate in having you wi' me—but first specimens should be ootside the arrangement altogether. Take the bittie gold, Jack, and I hope I'll live to see it in your ain home years after this."
They had by this time reached the end of the channel, at least so far as surface indications were concerned, and Bob once more propounded a theory.
"Is it not right to assume," said he, "that though we cannot trace the water-course any further on the surface, it must be there all the same?"
"Quite correct," answered Mackay; "but it may have changed its direction, an' it may have divided into smaller channels."
"But just here where it apparently disappears," persisted Bob, "may not some obstacle have deflected the current, or made the sand pile up and so raised the true bed upwards, making the original sides of the gully shallower at this point, and accounting for its being filled up level with the surrounding country before the deeper parts got wholly silted up?"