“That—an’ the other.”
“What—other?”
“The washout,” he said.
Then, as he saw the look of perplexity in the wide violet eyes, he went on to explain—
“You ain’t heard? Why, there was a washout on Devil’s Hill, where for nigh a year they bin lookin’ for gold. Y’ see they knew the gold was there, but couldn’t jest locate it. For months an’ months they ain’t seen a sign o’ color. They bin right down to ‘hard pan.’ They wer’ jest starvin’ their lives clear out. But they’d sank the’r pile in that hill, an’ couldn’t bring ’emselves to quit. Then along comes the storm, an’ right wher’ they’re working it washes a great lump o’ the hill down. Hundreds o’ thousands o’ tons of rock an’ stuff it would have needed a train load of dynamite to shift.”
“Yes, yes.” Joan’s eagerness brought her a step nearer to him. “And they found——”
“Gold!” Buck laughed. “Lumps of it.”
“Gold—in lumps!” The girl’s eyes widened with an excitement which the discovery of the precious metal ever inspires.
The man watched her thoughtfully.
“Why aren’t you there?” Joan demanded suddenly.