Clarence did not lose time.  Selecting a spot where the grass was less thick, he broke through the soil and turned up two or three spadefuls of red soil.  When he had filled the pan and raised it to his shoulder, he was astounded at its weight.  He did not know that it was due to the red precipitate of iron that gave it its color.  Staggering along with his burden to the running sluice, which looked like an open wooden gutter, at the foot of the hill, he began to carefully carry out Flynn’s direction.  The first dip of the pan in the running water carried off half the contents of the pan in liquid paint-like ooze.  For a moment he gave way to boyish satisfaction in the sight and touch of this unctuous solution, and dabbled his fingers in it.  A few moments more of rinsing and he came to the sediment of fine black sand that was beneath it.  Another plunge and swilling of water in the pan, and—­could he believe his eyes!—­a few yellow tiny scales, scarcely larger than pins’ heads, glittered among the sand.  He poured it off.  But his companion was right; the lighter sand shifted from side to side with the water, but the glittering points remained adhering by their own tiny specific gravity to the smooth surface of the bottom.  It was “the color”—­gold!

Clarence’s heart seemed to give a great leap within him.  A vision of wealth, of independence, of power, sprang before his dazzled eyes, and—­a hand lightly touched him on the shoulder.

He started.  In his complete preoccupation and excitement, he had not heard the clatter of horse-hoofs, and to his amazement Flynn was already beside him, mounted, and leading a second horse.

“You kin ride?” he said shortly.

“Yes” stammered Clarence; “but—­”

“But—­we’ve only got two hours to reach Buckeye Mills in time to catch the down stage.  Drop all that, jump up, and come with me!”

“But I’ve just found gold,” said the boy excitedly.

“And I’ve just found your—­cousin.  Come!”

He spurred his horse across Clarence’s scattered implements, half helped, half lifted, the boy into the saddle of the second horse, and, with a cut of his riata over the animal’s haunches, the next moment they were both galloping furiously away.

CHAPTER IX

Torn suddenly from his prospective future, but too much dominated by the man beside him to protest, Clarence was silent until a rise in the road, a few minutes later, partly abated their headlong speed, and gave him chance to recover his breath and courage.

“Where is my cousin?” he asked.

“In the Southern county, two hundred miles from here.”

“Are we going to him?”

“Yes.”

They rode furiously forward again.  It was nearly half an hour before they came to a longer ascent.  Clarence could see that Flynn was from time to time examining him curiously under his slouched hat.  This somewhat embarrassed him, but in his singular confidence in the man no distrust mingled with it.