“Fancy, my lad, fancy. There, lie down and rest. I’ll have a try when we come to a likely place. We must work in the river.”
“No; too muchee water,” said Quong.
“Yes; here. We must go up higher.”
“Quong washee gole,” said the little fellow again.
“Well then, where is it?”
Quong shook his head despondently once more.
“Washee gole,” he whined, and again his tone of voice seemed to say to me, “and there was some in that plate, but where it’s gone to now I haven’t the least idea.”
“Come along and have a rest.”
“Ah! ah! ah!” cried Quong, excitedly, after giving the pinch of sand a final shake. “Gole—gole!”
He held out the tin once more to Gunson, pointing now with one thin yellow finger, and looking triumphantly at both in turn.