"Lots of the little fellas are like melon-seeds"; and the Boy pointed a shaking finger, longing and still not daring to touch the treasure.
Each man had a dim feeling in the back of his head that, after all, the hillock of gold was an illusion, and his own hand upon the dazzling pile would clutch the empty air.
"Where's your dust?" asked the Boy.
Dillon stared.
"Why, here."
"This is all nuggets and grains."
"Well, what more do you want?"
"Oh, it'd do well enough for me, but it ain't dust."
"It's what we call dust."
"As coarse as this?"