Rivulets of perspiration were coursing down his dust-covered cheeks; dust whitened the ends of his long black locks, and dust seemed to fly from his nostrils as, puffing and blowing, he made his way into our midst.
In both hands he held a quantity of black-looking rock. As soon as he could get his breath he said: “Boys, I’ve struck it! There’s millions of tons of it! Millions on millions—enough to make the whole camp rich!”
“Well, what is it Pike?” asked some one. “Is it silver, gold, or what?”
“It is what none of you fellers would ever have found: it’s the stuff they make compasses of!”
“Make compasses of! What do you mean?” asked the men.
“Mean! I mean just what I say, that it is the stuff they make compasses of—surveyors’ compasses, mariners’ compasses, and all them kind of compasses that pint to the North Pole. None of you would ever have found it; you wouldn’t have knowed what it was!”
“Well, where is it? Where is this big thing?”
“Way up yander on top of the mountain,” said Pike, pointing towards the summit of Grizzly Hill. “There’s a whole ledge of it—a ledge fifty foot wide!”
“But how do you know that the stuff is good for anything?” asked the boys. “How do you know that it is what compasses are made of?”
“How do I know? Easy enough. Just look here, will you!”