This was quite plain to him. In the local dialect a “spell” was under a mile; “a right smart chance” might be three or four miles farther. Luckily the spring and outcrop were near the outskirts; he would pass near them again on his way. He looked longingly at the pan which she still held in her hands. “Would you mind lending me that pan for a little while?” he said half laughingly.
“Wot for?” demanded the girl quickly. Yet her tone was one of childish curiosity rather than suspicion. Fleming would have liked to avoid the question and the consequent exposure of his discovery which a direct answer implied. But he saw it was too late now.
“I want to wash a little dirt,” he said bluntly.
The girl turned her deep sunbonnet toward him. Somewhere in its depths he saw the flash of white teeth. “Go along with ye—ye're funnin'!” she said.
“I want to wash out some dirt in that pan—I'm prospecting for gold,” he said; “don't you understand?”
“Are ye a miner?”
“Well, yes—a sort of one,” he returned, with a laugh.
“Then ye'd better be scootin' out o' this mighty quick afore dad comes. He don't cotton to miners, and won't have 'em around. That's why he lives out here.”
“Well, I don't live out here,” responded the young man lightly. “I shouldn't be here if I hadn't lost my way, and in half an hour I'll be off again. So I'm not likely to bother him. But,” he added, as the girl still hesitated, “I'll leave a deposit for the pan, if you like.”
“Leave a which?”