Still keeping my hold on the rope, therefore, I sat myself down on the shale, while Joe, pick in hand, went to work again. Pretty soon he straightened up and said:
“I’ve found the vein all right, Phil; I don’t think there can be a doubt of it. Good strong vein, too, I should say.”
“How wide is it?”I asked.
“Can’t tell how wide it is. I’ve found what I suppose to be the porphyry hanging-wall, right here”—tapping the rock with his pick—“and I’ve been trying to trench across the vein to find the foot-wall, but the shale runs in on me faster than I can dig it out.”
“What do you propose to do, then, Joe?”
“Try one of those other holes further along and see if I can’t find the vein again and get its direction. You sit still there, Phil. I shall want you to give me a hand out of here soon.”
With extreme caution he made his way along the line of stumps, helping himself with the pick in one hand and the shovel in the other, until, about a hundred yards distant, he arrived at another hole where a tree had been rooted out, and here he went to work again. This time he kept at it for a good half hour, but at length he laid down his tools, and for a few minutes occupied himself by building with loose pieces of rock a little pillar about eighteen inches high.
“Can you see that, Phil?”he shouted.
“Yes, I can see it,”I called back.