"I'm not joking," continued Bill Breakstone earnestly. "I'm a rover, but I find when I rove. There's gold, lots of it, far west across the great mountains in California. You find it in the sand and gravel along the edges of streams which are dry most of the year. A man can generally do the work all by himself, with water and a pan, sifting the gold dust from the baser stuff.
"It's a terribly wild country of hills and of tremendously high mountains covered with snow. When the snow melts and the water comes down into these dry creek and river beds it comes with a mighty rush, and it washes the gold from the rocks along with it. At least, that's my theory, and the gold has been piling up for ages in dust and grains along the edges of these beds in the valleys below. I found this dust in a wild country about a thousand miles from here, but I can go straight back to the place."
The others were continually creeping a little nearer and a little nearer on their blankets, and the moonlight which found new openings through the trees showed three more pairs of eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Why did you come away after you found the gold?" asked Phil.
"Because I lacked supplies. Because I was alone. Because California belonged to the Mexicans. Because the Indians were dangerous to one man. Any of these reasons was good enough, but we can take supplies in abundance. I will not be alone. I doubt very much whether California now belongs to the Mexicans, or will belong to them much longer, and it is very likely that the Indians have wandered off into some other region. Boys, after so many dangers we'll all be rich."
"But, Bill," said Phil, "we can't take your gold, which you found after so much hardship and danger."
Bill Breakstone gave Phil Bedford a threatening look.
"I wish you to listen to a few words of wisdom," he said in a menacing tone, "and take care that you listen well. If I hear any more such foolishness from you, Sir Philip of the River and the Plain, you'll lose your golden spurs and your silver breastplate and your steel helmet and all your titles. You'll be degraded into the position of a common varlet to pull off my shoes, to bring me the mead to quaff, and to have a spear shaft broken over your wooden head when you're not bright and lively. And to you, Hans Arenberg, I give the same advice. I'll make you the King's Jester, and, with that solemn Prussian face of yours and that solemn Prussian mind of yours, you'll find jesting for me about as hard a task as any man ever undertook. And you, John Bedford, I will deliver bound hand and foot to your friend Captain Pedro de Armijo with the great red scar across his face which you put there. What a crisp little revenge he would take! I can see you now frying over the coals."
"But, Bill," persisted Phil, "it's your find."
"I know it, but you needn't think that ends everything. It's only the beginning. We've got to get back to that dead river of mine, and for that I need comrades. We've got to do weeks and weeks of work, and for that I need comrades. We've got to fight off danger, Indians perhaps, Mexicans perhaps, outlaws perhaps, and for that I need comrades. After we get the gold we've got to bring it safely to civilization, and for that I need comrades. Also, there is so much of the gold in the bed of the dead river that I could not spend it all alone, and for that I need comrades. Now will you come willingly and share and share alike with me, or shall I have to yoke up together and drive you unwillingly?"