He stopped for neither food nor drink. Only when the sun left did he give up his panning and return to camp. Weary and stiff, he munched his dehydrates moodily, his exhaustion dimming the earlier elation and allowing him to consider things in true perspective. And force him to admit with some bitterness that again the gods of fortune had withheld the munificence his courage and privations merited.
Not that he had made no strike. He had sought gold and had found it but not as gold had been found by others—in chunks and nuggets. Not the luck he felt he was entitled to for the effort expended and the danger involved. His gold lay in sand to be taken gradually in ounces of dust and in direct ratio to further effort over the days ahead.
Thus Gunnison faced a decision. Panned out to the end, this strike would, in six months, give him enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life. He would acquire but a fraction of what he could carry but it would be immeasurably better than complete failure.
So—would he work out the time here—sure of the modest payoff—or gamble his time in hunting a really big strike? He weighed the problem at length and decided on the sure thing. Take what fate grudgingly offered because as sure as destiny, the big take would be withheld in the end. There was no reason to believe that good luck—a stranger during all his years—would smile at this late hour. Having made his decision, he went to sleep, not even bothering to check his gun.
He arose the next day and worked again, doggedly piling up the yellow dust. Early in the day the birds—a pair this time—came to repeat the previous day's attack. They swept down viciously and Gunnison fended them off and chased them away with equally vicious swipes of his pan. When they flew off, he went feverishly back to work.
And at high noon the natives came.
From whence, Gunnison did not know so intent was he upon his gray sand. A shadow tilted across his pan, he whirled, and there they were.
His first reaction was a curse because his gun lay twenty feet away. He crouched where he was, staring. They stood by the rushing water, staring back. Two long minutes passed.
Time enough for Gunnison to feel revulsion at the hideousness of the creatures. They were three in number and he got the impression two were males and one a female although their appearance gave little indication either way.