through over and over again, with the
result that when some shovelfuls of sand had been obtained from about
two feet below the surface, the washings were rich enough to show
glittering specks in the sunshine, while out of his own pan Brace picked
a dozen thick scales of a rich dull yellow--the peculiar yellow of pure
gold. He showed them to Briscoe, who nodded and said:

"You have struck it pretty rich."

"But how do I know that this isn't that what-you-may-call-it that's
nearly all sulphur--that pretty yellow ore of iron?"

"Iron pyrites?" said the American: "by trying it with the edge of your
knife."

"How?"

"Like this," said Briscoe, picking up a flat water-worn pebble and,
drawing his keen sheath-knife, he took the thickest scale in Brace's pan
out of the sand, to place it upon the smooth surface. "Now," he said,
handing this and the knife to the young man, "try and cut that scale in
two."

Brace tried, and by exercising a little pressure he cut through the
yellow scale almost as easily as if it had been lead.

"There," said the young man half-contemptuously, "what does that prove?"

"That it is pure gold," replied Briscoe.

"But all is not gold that glitters," said Sir Humphrey, laughing.

"Not by a long way," said Briscoe; "but that is metal?"

"Certainly."

"It is yellow?"

"Yes," said Sir Humphrey.

"Then it is gold."

"Why isn't it iron pyrites--the salt of iron and sulphur?"

"Because if it had been it would have broken up into little bits: you
could have ground it into dust."

"So you could this," said Brace.

"Impossible. You could beat it out into a thin sheet which you could
blow away. That's gold, sir. I had two years' prospecting for metals
and precious stones up in the Rockies, with a first-class mineralogist,
and, without bragging, I think I know what I'm saying. This river's
full of rich metallic gold, I'm sure of that."

"I daresay you are," said Sir Humphrey: "only if this sand-spit is ten
times as rich in gold I'm not going to stay here any longer. We shall
be eaten up."

"Yes," said Brace, "the little wretches! They're almost as bad as the
tiny fish."

"What, these sand-flies?" said Briscoe, slapping his face and arms.
"Yes, they are a pretty good nuisance. Let's get ashore towards the
fire--the smoke will soon make them drift."

"Well, I've learned something about gold to-day," said Brace, as they
picked their way back through the shallows to the bank of t