"I'll see you hanged first," I retorted. "You are not going to make me draw up a fifty pound piece of quartz, and then laugh at me for my labor."
"Pull up quick," cried Fred, in an eager voice; and I heard a howl from the Irishman at my obstinacy.
"In the name of the saints, up wid it, good master Jim," pleaded Mike; but I rather hesitated, strengthened in the view which I took in the matter by the policeman.
"It's little gold that was ever taken from this claim, sir," he said, "although it has paid one or two proprietors by speculation. The soil is not of the right kind for large nuggets."
"How big is it?" I asked, addressing those who were some thirty feet below me.
"About as large as your head," was Fred's reply.
"Is it solid?" I demanded.
"It looks to be! But don't stand there asking questions, when you can satisfy yourself. Round up the bucket."
I began to think that the Irishman's dream was true, and that the whiskey had not taken possession of his senses.
Fred was not in the habit of indulging in practical jokes; and I finally concluded that I might as well satisfy myself whether a stone or a lump of gold was in the bucket. I wound up the windlass, while the policeman peeked down the long, dark shaft, eagerly watching for the bucket, to see what it contained.