"Anybody reading that warning won't dare to come within a mile of us," remarked the author, proudly, as he attached the notice to the ferrule of his "tent." "Any luck, pard?"
"Any what, Stan?"
"Luck—I mean have you found anything?"
"I've got a kwab, an' a cockle shell, an' an old shoe, an' a ginger-beer bottle," replied Lessels, with a yawn. "The bottle's got some beer left in, an' I'm very thirsty. Shall we have a dwop?"
"That isn't ginger-beer, it's sea water!" cried Stanley, warningly. "If you drink ever so little you'll go mad, and smash things and shoot yourself! Then I shall have to bury you in the sand, and put a wooden cross over your head, so that I can show dada where I left you."
"My head aches, an' I'm getting thirsty," protested the hard-working pard.
THEY DIG FOR GOLD, AND FLING THE SAND INTO THE CINDER-SIFTER.
A BIG NUGGET IS DISCOVERED.