Then we learned how the weight of the gold around his waist had carried him down like a plummet; and we sensed a little of the desperate horror with which he had torn and struggled to free himself from that dreadful burden.
“I thought I’d burst!” said he.
And then he had torn off the belt, and had shot to the surface.
“It’s down there,” he said more calmly, “every confounded yellow grain of it.” He laughed a little. “Broke!” said he. “No New York in mine!”
391The crowd murmured sympathetically.
“Gol darn it, boys, it’s rotten hard luck!” cried a big miner with some heat. “Who’ll chip in?”
At the words Johnny recovered himself, and his customary ease of manner returned.
“Much obliged, boys,” said he, “but I’ve still got my health. I don’t need charity. Guess I’ve been doing the baby act; but I was damn mad at that rotten old rail. Anyway,” he laughed, “there need nobody say in the future that there’s no gold in the lower Sacramento. There is; I put it there myself.”
The tall miner slowly stowed away his buckskin sack, looking keenly in Johnny’s face.
“Well, you’ll have a drink, anyway,” said he.