Panamint some
hundred or so miles, maybe two hundred, an' fetch around by the Armagosa
River, way to the south'erd. We could prospect on the way. But I guess
the Armagosa'd be dried up at this season. Anyhow," he concluded, "we'll
move camp to the south to-morrow. We got to get new feed an' water
for the horses. We'll see if we can knock over a couple of antelope
to-morrow, and then we'll scoot."

"I ain't got a gun," said the dentist; "not even a revolver. I--"

"Wait a second," said Cribbens, pausing in his scramble down the side
of one of the smaller gulches. "Here's some slate here; I ain't seen no
slate around here yet. Let's see where it goes to."

McTeague followed him along the side of the gulch. Cribbens went on
ahead, muttering to himself from time to time:

"Runs right along here, even enough, and here's water too. Didn't know
this stream was here; pretty near dry, though. Here's the slate again.
See where it runs, pardner?"

"Look at it up there ahead," said McTeague. "It runs right up over the
back of this hill."

"That's right," assented Cribbens. "Hi!" he shouted suddenly, "HERE'S A
'CONTACT,' and here it is again, and there, and yonder. Oh, look at
it, will you? That's granodiorite on slate. Couldn't want it any more
distinct than that. GOD! if we could only find the quartz between the
two now."

"Well, there it is," exclaimed McTeague. "Look on ahead there; ain't
that quartz?"

"You're shouting right out loud," vociferated Cribbens, looking where
McTeague was pointing. His face went suddenly pale. He turned to the
dentist, his eyes wide.

"By God, pardner," he exclaimed, breathlessly. "By God--" he broke off
abruptly.

"That's what you been looking for, ain't it?" asked the dentist.

"LOOKING for! LOOKING for!" Cribbens checked himself. "That's SLATE all
right, and that's granodiorite, I know"--he bent down and examined the
rock--"and here's the quartz between 'em; there can't be no mistake
about that. Gi' me that hammer," he cried, excitedly. "Come on, git to
work. Jab into the quartz with your pick; git out some chunks of it."
Cribbens went down on his hands and knees, attacking the quartz vein
furiously. The dentist followed his example, swinging his pick with
enormous force, splintering the rocks at every stroke. Cribbens was
talking to himself in his excitement.

"Got you THIS time, you son of a gun! By God! I guess we got you THIS
time, at last. Looks like it, anyhow. GET a move on