“Well,” said Steptoe, putting down his emptied cup, “trot out your strike.  I reckon our eyes are strong enough to bear it now.”  Stacy drew the blanket from the vague pile that stood in the corner, and discovered a deep tin prospecting-pan.  It was heaped with several large fragments of quartz.  At first the marble whiteness of the quartz and the glittering crystals of mica in its veins were the most noticeable, but as they drew closer they could see the dull yellow of gold filling the decomposed and honeycombed portion of the rock as if still liquid and molten.  The eyes of the party sparkled like the mica—­even those of Barker and Stacy, who were already familiar with the treasure.

“Which is the richest chunk?” asked Steptoe in a thickening voice.

Stacy pointed it out.

“Why, it’s smaller than the others.”

“Heft it in your hand,” said Barker, with boyish enthusiasm.

The short, thick fingers of Steptoe grasped it with a certain aquiline suggestion; his whole arm strained over it until his face grew purple, but he could not lift it.

“Thar useter be a little game in the ’Frisco Mint,” said Dick, restored to fluency by his liquor, “when thar war ladies visiting it, and that was to offer to give ’em any of those little boxes of gold coin, that contained five thousand dollars, ef they would kindly lift it from the counter and take it away!  It wasn’t no bigger than one of these chunks; but Jiminy! you oughter have seed them gals grip and heave on it, and then hev to give it up!  You see they didn’t know anything about the paci—­(hic) the speshif—­” He stopped with great dignity, and added with painful precision, “the specific gravity of gold.”

“Dry up!” said Steptoe roughly.  Then turning to Stacy he said abruptly, “But where’s the rest of it?  You’ve got more than that.”

“We sent it to Boomville this morning.  You see we’ve sold out our claim to a company who take it up to-morrow, and put up a mill and stamps.  In fact, it’s under their charge now.  They’ve got a gang of men on the claim already.”

“And what mout ye hev got for it, if it’s a fair question?” said Steptoe, with a forced smile.

Stacy smiled also.  “I don’t know that it’s a business question,” he said.

“Five hundred thousand dollars,” said Demorest abruptly from the doorway, “and a treble interest.”

The eyes of the two men met.  There was no mistaking the dull fire of envy in Steptoe’s glance, but Demorest received it with a certain cold curiosity, and turned away as the sound of arriving voices came from without.

“Five hundred thousand’s a big figger,” said Steptoe, with a coarse laugh, “and I don’t wonder it makes you feel so d——­d sassy.  But it was a fair question.”

Unfortunately it here occurred to the whiskey-stimulated brain of Dick that the friend he had introduced was being treated with scant courtesy, and he forgot his own treatment by Steptoe.  Leaning against the wall he waved a dignified rebuke.  “I’m sashified my ole frien’ is akshuated by only businesh principles.”  He paused, recollected himself, and added with great precision:  “When I say he himself has a valuable claim in Red Gulch, and to my shertain knowledge has received offers—­I have said enough.”