At the “Laughing Water” claim, during this period, tremendous elation existed.  Not only had three lines of sluices been installed, with three shifts of men to shovel night and day, but a streak of gravel of sensational worth had been encountered in the cove.  The clean-up at sunset every day was netting no less than a thousand dollars in gold for each twenty-four hours at work.

This news, when it “leaked,” begot another rush, and men by the hundreds swarmed again upon the hills, in all that neighborhood, panning the gravel for their lives.  Wild-catting started with an impetus that shook the State itself.  And Van could only grit his teeth and continue, apparently, to smile.

All this and more came duly to the ears of Glenmore Kent and Beth.  The girl was in despair as the days went by and nothing had been accomplished.  The meager fact that Lawrence had run and corrected the reservation line, at Searle’s behest, was all that Glen had learned.

But of all the men in Goldite he was doubtless best equipped with knowledge concerning Bostwick’s Eastern standing.  He knew that Searle had never had the slightest Government authority to order the survey made—­and therein lay the crux of all the matter.  It was all he had to go upon, but he felt it was almost enough.

The wires to New York were tapped again, and Beth was presently a local bank depositor with a credit of twenty thousand dollars.  In a quiet, effective manner, Glen then went to work to secure a surveyor on his own account, or rather at Beth’s suggestion.

With the fact of young Kent’s advent in the town Van was early made acquainted.  When Beth procured the transfer of her money from New York to Goldite, Rickart promptly reported the news.  It appeared to Van a confirmation of all his previous suspicions.  He could not fight a woman, and Bostwick and McCoppet remained upon the claim.  Searle wrote nearly every day to Beth, excusing his absence, relating his success, and declaring the increase of his love.

On a Wednesday morning Glenmore’s man arrived by stage from Starlight, instruments and all.  His name was Pratt.  He was a tall, slow-moving, blue-eyed man, nearly sixty years of age, but able still to carry a thirty-pound transit over the steepest mountain ever built.  Glen met him by appointment at the transportation office and escorted him at once to Mrs. Dick’s.

Already informed as to what would be required, the surveyor was provided with all the data possible concerning the reservation limits.

Beth was tremendously excited.  “I’m glad you’ve come,” she told him candidly.  “Can you start the work to-day?”

“You will want to keep this quiet,” he said.  “I need two men we can trust, and then I’m ready to start.”

“Two?” said Glen.  “That’s awkward.  I thought perhaps you could get along with little me.”

Beth, in her tumult of emotions, was changing color with bewildering rapidity.