For a few moments, Sergeant Morton applied the pickaxe vigorously, then a ringing sound followed the blows.
"A selvage pocket!" muttered the New Zealander, as he scooped out the remnants of clay. "Hard luck, Jack, the worst of bad luck. The pocket has given out. It can't be helped. And now let us examine our spoil."
With trembling fingers, it must be confessed, Sergeant Morton proceeded to examine the blue clay he had dislodged, while Jack with a big clasp knife followed suit.
An exclamation burst from the New Zealander.
"Jack!" he cried excitedly, "we are both made men!" and he showed to our hero a substance rather larger than a walnut.
"This is a klip, Jack; one of the finest South Africa has yet produced. I must rest a while; I'm too excited to do any more;" and the cool-headed New Zealander, the man who had been in a hundred fights without showing the slightest trace of fear, sat down, and with great difficulty restrained himself from shedding tears.
Poverty and its attendant struggles would be a thing of the past, and, in his Antipodean home, the war-worn Ranger would be able to share in the luxuries and happiness which wealth, if judiciously used, can bestow on its fortunate recipients.
Several additional diamonds of large size were found by Morton and Jack in the blue clay dislodged from the selvage pocket. These were carefully gathered, and the two friends were on the point of returning to the Kopje Farm, when they saw a figure silhouetted against the skyline.
"I fancy it is Pat," said Jack. "I wonder what news he brings. I trust Colonel Malcolmson has captured the commando."
"I hope such may be the case," observed the New Zealander. "However, let us move forward as rapidly as we can, and ascertain what is the matter."