rse, heavy like the others and giving forth the musical metallic
chink.

"Ah! But this is pretty!" murmured Pere Marquette, glad at once to see
peace and a game which would interest his guests. "Jules, bring more
wine, plenty. Make the fires up, big."

"How big are you bettin' 'em?" Kootanie George demanded as he emptied
his canvas bag and piled several hundred dollars in neat yellow stacks.

Garcia lifted his shoulders, showed his fine white teeth pleasantly and
looked to Drennen.

"As big as you like," retorted Drennen crisply. And then, lifting his
voice a little, "Marquette!"

"Oui, m'sieu." Marquette came quickly to the table.

"I want some money . . . for this."

Then Drennen spilled the contents of his bag upon the table and for a
moment every man who saw sat or stood riveted to his place, absolutely
without motion. Then a gasp went up, a gasp of wonder, while here and
there a quick spurt of blood in the face or a brilliant gleam of the
eye told of quickened heart beats and the grip of that excitement which
man never lived who could fight down altogether. Drennen had turned
out upon the table top a veritable cascade of nuggets.

"Gold!"

The word sped about the room, whispered, booming loudly, creating a
sudden tense eagerness. Men shoved at one another, craning necks, to
peer at the thing which Drennen so coolly had disclosed. Gold!
Nuggets that were, in the parlance of the camp, "rotten" with gold.
Drennen two weeks ago had left the Settlement with his last cent gone
in a meagre grub stake; now he was back and he had made a strike. A
strike such as no man here had ever dropped his pick into in all of the
ragged years of adventuresome search; a strike which could not be a
week's walk from MacLeod's, a strike which might mean millions to the
first few who would stake out claims.

Pere Marquette stared and muttered strange, awestruck French oaths and
made no move to unclasp his hands, lifted before him in an attitude
incongruously like that of prayer. Kootanie George, whom men called
rich and who owned a claim for which two companies were contending,
stared and a little pallor crept into his cheeks. Ramon Garcia broke
off in the midst of his little song softly whispering, "_Jesus Maria_."
No-luck Drennen had found gold!

"Well?" demanded Drennen savagely, swinging about upon Marquette, who
was bending tremulously over him. "Didn't you hear me?"

"_Mais oui, m'sieu_," Marquette said hast