Jem remained with the natives upon some frivolous pretense. His real hope was to catch the ruffian whom he secretly believed to be still in the wood. “He is like enough to creep out this way,” thought Jem, “and then—won't I nail him!”
In half an hour they were standing under the spot whose existence Robinson had so often doubted.
“Well, George, you painted it true. It really is a river of quartz running between those two black rocks. And that you think is the home of the gold, eh?”
“Well, I do. Look here, Tom! look at this great large heap of quartz bowlders, all of different sizes; they have all rolled down here out of that river of quartz.”
“Why, of course they have! who doubts that?”
“Many is the time I have sat on that green mound where Jacky is sitting now, and eaten my bread and cheese.”
“I dare say! but what has that to do with it? what are we to do? Are we to go up the rock and peck into that mass of quartz?”
“Well, I think it is worth while.”
“Why, it would be like biting a piece out of the world! Look here, Master George, we can put your notion about the home of the gold to the test without all that trouble.”
“As how?”