They found pick and pan, stacked with the empty water kegs by the location monument of the Goblin Gold; they scraped up a small pan of dirt from one of the shallow holes of Adam’s making; they poured in water from their canteens; Caney did the washing. He poured off the lighter dirt, he picked out the pebbles, he shook the residue with a gentle oscillating movement; he poured the muddy water cautiously, he shook the pan again.
“Sufferin’ tomcats!” yelled Hales. “Gold as big as wheat!”
Caney’s face went whitey-green; he completed the washing with a last dexterous flirt and set down the pan with trembling hands.
“Look at that!”
Jody’s eyes were popping from his head. “A pocket! Even if it plays out in a day—a day’s work would make us rich for life!”
“Us—hell!” said Caney. “We get the crumbs and leavings. Adam Forbes knows what he’s about. He’s got the cream. Outside of his claims the whole damn mountain won’t be worth hell room!”
Jody turned his eyes slowly toward Redgate. “If we’d only known we might have horned in. Three of us—why, sooner than lose it all and get himself killed to boot, we might have split this fifty-fifty.”
“We’ll split this thirty-thirty!” Caney sprang to his feet. “Have you got the guts for it? Jody, this is your country—can we head him off?”
“If he goes round by the head of Redgate Cañon—and if we don’t stay here talking—we can cut across through Deadman. There’s a pass where Deadman and Redgate bend close together. It won’t be a long shot—two hundred yards.”
“Three shots! Come on!” Hales swung on his horse. “We’ve all got our rifles. Three shots! Come on!” He jabbed the spurs home.