"Smithson, come here quick," called Roberts in a voice trembling with excitement.
"I won't do it! I want my breakfast. What are you doing? Picking wild flowers, I suppose. How're we goin' to get along without grub, I'd like to know. Come down, I say!"
Roberts appeared to be working industriously. Finally he rose from his stooping position, and motioning to his partner, called out in a low tone:
"Come quick, man, or you'll be sorry! Never mind breakfast; you can eat that any day; but you don't see this sight often."
With that Smithson ambled over to the foot of the cliff.
"What is it?" he inquired crossly.
"Catch this bit of rock and look at it," said Roberts in a low, excited voice, dropping a small white fragment at the feet of the other.
"By Jove! Roberts, it carries gold!"
"Shut your mouth! Don't tell the men on the trail! These hills have ears and plenty of 'em. Come up here quick, but first bring a pick and hammer from the packs."
With that the dilatory fellow forgot his hunger, his mosquito-bitten hands and face, and in less than two minutes was climbing up the cliff with the tools.