CHAPTER VIII GOLD IN THE “JIGGER”
“It’s nearly time for us to know ’bout where we stand,” remarked Mundon, as he flung several shovelfuls of mortar, brickdust, and soot into the “jigger.” He then added some quicksilver to the mass. “There, I guess that’ll do fur this time. Now, we’ll churn the cream and see if we kin git any butter.”
“Perhaps it isn’t cream,” Ben suggested, more to hear Mundon reassure him than anything else.
“No; p’raps it ain’t,—p’raps it’s only skim milk. Well, in that case we won’t git any butter. But I’m a-bettin’ on it’s bein’ cream.”
When Mundon took some of the amalgam from the dirty water and washed it clean, Ben knew that the time of reckoning had arrived.
“Ain’t feelin’ faint, are you, Ben?” Mundon facetiously inquired. “I orter brought some smellin’-salts along. Well, I’ve got a ticklish sort of feelin’ myself.”
He placed the amalgam in a piece of buckskin. This he squeezed until the larger part of the quicksilver had been pressed through the skin.
He did not tell Ben, but he knew from long experience that the result was satisfactory. Ben read his thoughts in his face.
“Tell me it’s all right, Mundon! I can see by your face that it is, but I’d like to hear you say it! Tell me!”