That morning, after breakfast, he returned to the hospital. He found Jim in an excited state.
"No, Mr. Owens, there's nothing wrong with him," the doctor explained, "only he hasn't slept all night. He's been asking for you, every few minutes."
When the mine-owner entered the ward, Jim struggled up to a sitting position.
"What about it?" he queried.
Owens closed the door carefully, came up to the sick man's bedside, and answered quietly,
"About 110 grains of gold to the ton and 800 ounces of silver. There's some native copper, too."
"It's a real find then?"
"It isn't what you'd call rich," the Australian answered cautiously.
"How about this, then?"
Jim took his old coat, which he had got the hospital attendant to bring him the night before, ripped open a seam, showing a narrow tube of buckskin running around the hem, and, opening its mouth, poured out a few grains of yellow metal into the palm of his hand.