On winding their comrade up, he declared that the blast had broken the ground into the tunnel, and that the foul air was coming freely into the bottom of the shaft. "We'll let it stay as it is till termorrer, an' then we'll clear it out."
The pals went to sleep that night to dream about the El Dorado which, in their imagination, they had struck. The earliest dawn found them at the shaft's mouth. Harry tied several bushes to the end of the rope, and this was rapidly lowered and raised for about a couple of hours, the condition below being tested from time to time by a lighted candle placed in a bucket and lowered to the bottom. At last it remained alight, though it burned very feebly. About half an hour after this, the candle, on being sent below again, burned brightly.
"It's all right, now, boys! We've got rid of the gas, that's a blessing. Lower away!" In a few seconds Harry was filling the buckets with the broken rock and earth. In a short time it was all cleared up, and the leader had started to drive along the line of the vein. He had not cut in more than a couple of feet when he threw down the pick and shouted up the shaft, "Hurroar, boys! I've struck a patch. Be gosh, it looks like a pocket!"
The excitement above at this good news may be better imagined than described. The vein of wash-dirt suddenly expanded into a cube of about sixty buckets of auriferous earth. It was a genuine though small pocket. Whether rich or poor could be determined only by washing.
Harry filled a bucket with the dirt, which was speedily hauled up. The next minute he was pulled to the surface, and, spreading the stuff on the ground, examined it. To the great delight of the pals, he picked out several large specks and a small nugget, scaling about half an ounce.
"It's all right, mates!" cried the stockman, now almost as excited as the boys. "We've struck it rich, I do believe. Sandy, me boy, git your nag an' a packhorse, an' streak fur Jago's as fast as yer can git, an' borry a cradle. It'd take too long ter pan this stuff—must have a cradle. But, look 'ere, don't give the show away. Tell 'im I got a few specks from a bit o' stuff I came acrost, an' that I'm jist goin' ter give it a try. He'll most likely call me a big fool, an' don't yer conterdict 'im."
A cradle, it may be said, is a machine on rockers for washing the auriferous earth. The machine is fed with the wash-dirt, a stream of water being poured on while it is rocked like a child's cradle. The heavy sand and gravel, together with the precious metal, sink to the bottom and are retained by the "ridges," whilst the earth and all light matter pass away with the water. It is finally treated in a dish so skilfully that only the pure metal is left.
While Sandy is speeding off to Jago's the rest are busy picking the pocket and carrying it down to a flat by the side of the tiny stream which ran along the gully bottom. The work was hard, for the wash-dirt was heavy, and the buckets big; but they made fun of the hardships of bruised fingers and strained muscles, as they hauled the precious earth from the shaft mouth, and then humped it to the stream.
They had not quite finished their work ere Sandy reappeared upon the scene with the cradle. Very little grass had grown during the performance of his task.
Scarcely allowing themselves time to bolt down their midday meal, the party were grouped around the cradle, which Harry had fixed within a yard of the stream. The stockman soon made his dispositions of the forces. Joe and Tom are to lift the water and pour it on as required, while he and Sandy work the cradle. Denny is to feed the machine with the dirt.