"Here's the old glory-hole (an open pit, not a shaft), an' nobody's been here!" he announced triumphantly. He grabbed pickaxe and shovel and slithered in, with the confidence of a man who knew every inch of the ground.
A few scoops of the shovel cleared away the snow.
Below, though overgrown with dry weeds of many seasons' growing, were the infallible signs of human handiwork. Even the old sluice was there, though fallen to pieces.
The others crowded around the glory-hole. The moment of test had come.
"Here, 'Wizard'," said Jim, when he had exposed the workings, "there's where I was pannin' last. Jump in an' take a look."
The expert, despite his years, leaped in lightly. He took the pick from Jim's hand, and, with a few vigorous strokes, loosened some of the gravel. He scrutinized it carefully, first with the naked eye, and then with a strong pocket lens.
"Well?" asked Jim, impatiently.
"Where are the other prospects?" The "Wizard's" kindly tone had vanished. He was now a mining expert, at his work. Personalities had faded. Geological questions, only, had weight.
Silently Jim led him up the slope, Jameine and Clem following.
Despite the veiling snow, the old prospector located hole after hole with unfailing accuracy, until seven had been found and examined. The last one was half-way up the cliff.