Joe sent Sam back to the camp to buy the spade and another if he could find one, and also to get all the provisions he could. Meanwhile he himself went up through the woods to the river to look at the old flatboat, which he dimly remembered having seen some time ago. It was not more than half a mile away, and lay on the shore capsized, high and dry. It had been abandoned as useless, and was old, cracked, and leaky, but it looked as if it might be calked up. Rosin was not a cargo to be harmed by wetting. But the boat would hardly carry the whole contents of the bed, and when it was once floated down the river he did not know how he would ever get it back again.
However, it was not worth while worrying about the second load till they got out the first, and he walked back, to wait impatiently till Sam returned with the spade. Sam had made all possible speed; he was out of breath with hurrying; but he had been able to obtain only one spade, and all the provisions he could secure were a large lump of corn-pone and about a dozen baked sweet-potatoes.
But with Joe’s package of food this would do temporarily. He was feverishly anxious to ascertain the real dimensions of the rosin-bed, and he set Sam to open a trench across one end of the deposit, cutting clear to its bottom. Digging was easy in that sandy soil, and in a few minutes Sam had laid bare the end of the deposit and spaded the earth away, sinking a hole deep enough to ascertain the thickness of the rosin reef. It was fully four feet thick at that point, and seemed to be ten or fifteen feet wide. The rosin was mixed with pine-needles, bark and sand, having never been strained; and it occurred to Joe, as a further difficulty, that he would have to remelt and strain it all, if he was to get the full market price. But he did not trouble himself about that, in the triumph of the moment. Sam was wildly enthusiastic, for his experience at the camp made him fully appreciate the value of the discovery.
“Done told you dere was ten thousand dollars’ worth!” he exclaimed exultantly. “Whoop-ee! Reckon I’s goin’ git my thousand dollars, Mr. Joe!”
“I reckon you won’t,” returned Joe, who was nevertheless almost as excited as the negro. “There’s nothing like that much. But come round to the other end, Sam, and let’s see how far it goes that way.”
Sam spaded furiously through the deep pine-needles at the other end. At the depth of a foot or so he struck wood. It was a short piece of pine log. He threw it out, then came upon another log, but found no trace of rosin beyond a few loose lumps. Under the logs was a deep layer of brushwood and pine boughs, still quite fresh.
“Dis hole’s been dug out already, an’ filled up again!” exclaimed Sam, rolling horrified eyes upon his companion.
Joe seized the spade and tore out the rubbish. But Sam was right. A great pit had very recently been dug there. The diggers had then filled it in with brush, and, after placing small logs to make it firm, had replaced earth and raked the surface of pine-needles back as before. In probing with his iron on the first day Joe must have struck this solid wood in many places, imagining it to be the rosin-bed.
“Somebody’s done robbed us!” moaned Sam. “Hol’ on! Lemme try in another place.”
He rapidly excavated another trench in a different direction. This was also a disappointment. Not a lump of rosin was there, nothing but the same cunning filler of logs and boughs.