"He said he had to shoot a man in order to get it," said Tom.
"What man was it?"
"I don't know. He didn't describe him."
Elam had been fooled so many times in regard to that nugget that he took the paper with a smile, but he had scarcely glanced at it before a look of intense earnestness took the place of the smile. He laid down his rifle, rested his hands upon his knees, and studied the paper long and earnestly.
"Do you make anything out of it?" asked Tom.
"It's the very thing I want," declared Elam. "I have waited and looked for a thing like this, and have never found it. The nugget is mine—mine, and, Tom, I will give you half if you will stand by me till I handle it."
"It's a bargain," replied Tom, and to show how very much in earnest he was he offered to shake hands with Elam; but he resolved that he would never do it again. All the years of waiting Elam had infused into that grip; Tom didn't say anything, but it was all he could do to stand it.
"There is only one thing I can't see into," said he, when he had recovered his power of speech, "and that is where that line begins. You don't know where in the world it is."
"Do you see all these little dots here at the beginning of the line? Well, those are springs. There's a dozen springs break out inside of half an acre, and there's only one place in the country where you can find them."
"How far is it from here?"