Chapter Twenty Eight.
The Yellow Metal.
The men had landed and made fast the boat, and were now gathering wood for a fire, as Brace and the American stepped to the shallowest part they could find, where the stream ran swiftly, washing the stones so that they glittered and shone in the bright sunshine.
“Suppose we try here,” said Briscoe, rolling up his sleeves and making use of the shovel they had brought to scrape away some of the larger pebbles. “Now then, there, hold the bowls, or they’ll be floating away.”
Brace thrust them down under the water, and Briscoe placed a shovelful of gravelly sand in one, balancing it so that it was level on the bottom of the bowl.
“I say, we did not come up here to begin gold-hunting,” said Brace reproachfully.
“No, of course not. Ours is a naturalists’ trip, and this is testing the mineralogy of the district,” said Briscoe, with a peculiar smile.
Plosh! Another shovelful of gravelly sand was raised and placed in the second bowl. Then the shovel was driven in, to stand upright.
“Now,” cried Briscoe, “wash away.”