About four o'clock they did drop them, and walked on light, the Baker leading through the open forest, carrying nothing but the water-bags. Smith even threw away his coat, which hung on him as loosely as if it had been made for Hicks. He found it easier going, but hope was gradually dying. White-fellow or black-fellow, what did it matter? He was a thousand times inclined to stay, to lie down and die.
And when he was at his lowest he saw the Baker stop and bend down.
"Poor devil, he's got the gripes again," said Smith, in a curious detached way, as if the Baker was some one whom he was looking at from some other than a human stand-point.
But Mandeville had nothing wrong with him when he stooped. He bent down to pick something up; and that something made his eyes bolt out of his head. He put it in his coat pocket and walked on.
"No, I never picked h'anythin' up," he said obstinately to himself, and then diving into his pocket, he pulled the thing out again.
"If I shows it to Smith 'e'll go fair off 'is nut," he said. "It ain't possible, that's what it ain't. But, Lordy, ain't it 'eavy."
And sitting down, he waited till Smith came stumbling along blindly.
"I've found something, Smith," he said casually.
"Yes," said Smith dully.
"It's gold, Smith."