"And I say the same; will swear to it, if you prefer," added Tyrrel.
"No. I can trust you without that. Well, then, listen—hist! I thought I heard a footstep," muttered Duplin, warningly.
"I guess it comes from the camp," suggested Burr, rising erect and gazing keenly around. "I can see nothing nearer than there."
"It may be; I suppose I am nervous. I wouldn't like for any one to overhear what I'm about to say, for though enough for us three, it would go but a little way divided among the train."
"It?"
"By that I mean what I have found—what I stumbled on this afternoon as I was coming back to camp. Boys—I've found a placer!"
"Eh—what?" stammered the two young men, completely amazed, though their thoughts had already reverted to some such revelation.
"'Tis true—I've found a gold placer—a pocket—a regular bed of gold!" panted Duplin, his eyes fairly blazing.
Wythe gazed keenly into Duplin's face, as though trying to decide whether or no he had gone crazy. Jack Tyrrel divided his glances between them, the while dolefully scratching his curly pate.
"Yes, think of that! A regular bed of gold, full of nuggets that are so pure you can mark them with a pin-point, almost. I could have filled my pockets in an hour."