He pulled out from beneath his pillow an oil-skin parcel, which he opened, discovering a small bag of buckskin tied with a thong.
"Open it," he said to Shock. "Take out the paper." His voice became low and eager, and his manner bespoke intense excitement.
"My dear friend," said the doctor, "this will be too much for you. You must be calm."
"Give me something to drink, doctor, something to steady me a bit, for I must convey to you the secret of my life's quest."
The doctor administered a stimulant, and then, with less excitement, but with no less eagerness, the old man proceeded with his story.
"Here," he said, pointing with a trembling finger to a line upon the paper Shock had spread before him, "here is the trail that leads to the Lost River. At this point we are now camped. Follow the course of this stream to this point, half a day's journey, not more; turn toward the east and cross over this low mountain ridge and you come to a valley that will strike you as one of peculiar formation. It has no apparent outlet. That valley," said the Old Prospector, lowering his voice to a whisper, "is the valley of the Lost River. This end," keeping his trembling finger at a certain point on the paper, "has been blocked up by a mountain slide. The other turns very abruptly, still to the east. Three mountain peaks, kept in perfect line, will lead you across this blockade to the source of the Lost River."
"Mr. Mowbray," said Shock, "Perault tells us you only made short excursions from this point where we are now."
"Listen," said the old man. "I made this discovery last year. I have breathed it to no one. My claim is yet unstaked, but here," said he, taking another small buckskin bag from his breast, "here is what I found."
He tried in vain with his trembling fingers to undo the knot. Shock took the bag from him and opened it up.
"Empty it out," said the old man, his eyes glittering with fever and excitement.