“What did you do with the stuff that you took out of that ‘fault’ while you were hunting for the lost argentite vein?” he asked.
“Wheelbarrered it out and threw it on the dump,” was the old man’s answer.
“Well,” said Dick definitely, “it’s kind of lucky there is plenty more of it left in the ‘fault.’ See this little button that’s left on the charcoal?”
The old man squinted his eyes and tried to see, but the button was no larger than a very small pinhead.
“Take the glass,” said Dick, handing him the pocket magnifier.
“Shore! I see it now. What-all is it?” asked the squinter.
“Silver and gold,” said Dick calmly. “That ‘lime-horse’ of yours isn’t a lime-horse at all; it’s a vein of sylvanite, according to the blowpipe test. Didn’t you see that white stuff on the charcoal go off in a blue flame when I heated it? That was the tellurium in the ore. You’ve struck a telluride mine without knowing it, and you’ve probably thrown a small fortune away in the stuff that you wheelbarrowed out and threw on the dump. But, as I say, there seems to be plenty more of it. Gee! You’re a rich man, and you never suspected it!”
“But—but, how can you tell?” stammered the old prospector. “That li’l’ speck o’ metal ain’t no bigger than a gnat’s ear!”
“Of course it isn’t,” said Dick. “But when you remember that it came out of a sample that you could hold on your thumbnail ... why, good goodness! the stuff’s simply got to be rich in either silver or gold, or both!”
The old man turned in his home-made chair and sat perfectly still for quite a little while, staring intently into the heart of the fire on the rude stone hearth. When he spoke again it was to say: “I ain’t heerd ye say nothin’ about me goin’ havers with you, son.”