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.

"Ye never saw your--cousin?" he asked.

"No," said Clarence; "nor he me. I don't think he knew me much, any way.

"How old mout ye be, Clarence?"

"Eleven."

"Well, as you're suthin of a pup"--Clarence started, and recalled
Peyton's first criticism of him--"I reckon to tell ye suthi