Finishing his lunch, he was idly working at the moss with his heels when he noticed that the rock beneath was white as milk. He examined it closely; yes, it was quartz, the parent rock of gold.
Immediately the instinct of the miner was aroused. He took a piece of loose rock and easily broke off several pieces. These he put into his pockets, and set out eagerly for home. His mind was free of politics now! A tinge of palest green was on the hills; this one day's sun had burst a myriad of buds upon a million poplars. Yes, it was summer!
George and Hugh, coming in soon after John's return, were shown the find, and all was enthusiasm.
"Pretty hungry-looking stuff," was Hugh's comment on close inspection. "How will you get water up there for your stamp-mill?"
John found an answer, as he remembered the long, gently-reclining ridge to Bonanza Creek with its flanking valleys on either side.
"I'll take my ore to Bonanza Creek."
"But they won't let you take the water out of Bonanza Creek."
"Perhaps not; but they will let me have the water out of the tributaries if I can turn it back before it reaches Bonanza Creek."
On the morrow George and he visited the famous—or infamous—seat of the Head over the mining industry. They found the Gold Commissioner's office a log building of no great dimensions near the police-barracks. A waiting crowd was lined before the door. A policeman standing near the office entrance directed John, who wished merely to get a copy of the regulations governing the taking up of quartz claims, to ask at the wicket inside.
He entered. As he stood waiting his turn he overheard a miner, evidently a Scandinavian, applying for a claim.