"Half day, as you call, Mis'r," the Thron-Diuck answered. "Half day with heap good dogs!"
"So?" cried Britton, warming to the scent of the treasure. "How many hills on this side of the stream?"
The Indian located three with as many dabs of his skinny forefinger and showed where the other two hills lay across the river. Rex marked them with small circles, mentally calculating by the scale their distance from the source and thus knowing their position at least approximately.
The Thron-Diuck regarded his handiwork with satisfaction.
"Heap right," he said triumphantly, "Mis'r heap smart man! Give fire-water, Mis'r; you got much big gold!"
Rex passed over the flask without further parley.
"Yes, it's yours," was his final word, "but heaven help you if you have deceived me as to the position of this stuff!"
Lessari lurched forward to share the Indian's draught, but Britton pushed him rudely back upon his bed.
"You go right to sleep," he ordered, "and get fit for the trail in the morning."
Rex sat beside him to enforce the obeyance of the order till the Corsican dropped into slumber, while over beside the camp stove the Thron-Diuck lay in stupefaction.