“The question is, though, how am I going to find this place—how are we going to find it, I mean, for what I find is for the outfit, not for my own selfish self. I—”
Elfreda’s eyes had been wandering over the scene that lay before them as Grace slowly turned the leaves of the diary. Miss Briggs thought she had seen a movement off to the right at the edge of the rock farthest from the camp.
“What is it?” demanded Grace, glancing up quickly.
“Nothing. Go on. Find anything else?”
“Only this: ‘When the sun is at the meridian the sands turn to golden yellow,’” read Grace.
“What does he mean, do you think?”
“I suppose he means to convey that the bed of the dry stream, if it is dry, shows a sort of golden strip. That is all I can make of it. There seems to be nothing else in the book in reference to the subject in which we are particularly interested. I am certain that the poor man knew what he was saying; I believe that he believed he had found what he says he found. Whether he did find it or not is quite another matter. In any event Lost River and the lost mine are well worth looking for as we go along. If there be such a place, Overland luck will lead us to it,” finished Grace.
“I doubt it—I was going to say I hope Overland luck doesn’t lead us to it, to our River of Doubt. Oh, Grace!”
“Wha—at is it?”
“Oh, look!”