He turned around and there, sure enough, was Banker, standing on the rock, pawing at his eyes. The shot had struck the edge of the rock just below his face and spattered fragments all over him.
De Launay laughed grimly as the groping figure shook a futile fist at him. Then Banker sat down and dug at his face industriously.
They had ridden another hundred yards when a yell echoed in the cañon. He turned again and saw Banker leaping and shrieking on the rock, waving hands to the heavens and carrying on like a maniac.
“Gone plumb loco,” said De Launay, contemptuously.
But, unknown to De Launay or mademoiselle, the high gods must have laughed in irony as old Jim 235 Banker raved and flung his hands toward their Olympian fastness.
De Launay’s shot, which had crushed the edge of the rock to powder, had exposed to the prospector the glittering gold of French Pete’s lost Bonanza! 236