ame here? Speak up, or I'll shoot you!"

The man squirmed uneasily, scared out of most of his wits; but in his
fright he retained some sense, and what was better, some loyalty.

"No game, sar," he cried. "Me Misser Houten's man. We all Misser
Houten's man, sar. I tell you true; dere is no gol' dust here. Suppose
you want to steal gol' dust, some other place, maybe. Here no gottit."

"Steal? Why--Oh dammit, Little!" Barry exclaimed, "the fellow thinks
we've come to rob Houten. Show him your letter, or whatever it is.
Better yet, let one of the hands tell him who we are. I'll never make
him understand."

The _bona fides_ of the party established, the atmosphere was cleared to
the extent of faces smiling where faces had looked frightened before;
but no other answer could be got from the gold washers.

"We been here many weeks--months, sar--but no gol' dust got. Very soon
we all go back; no got food no more; nobody come here. Misser Gordon
tell us stop along here until he say come back. Many days we wash sand
in de river, but no gol', sar, no, sar."

Barry was nonplussed. He glared at Little, seeking inspiration from a
man as dumbfounded as himself. Little grinned sheepishly back at him and
remarked:

"I expected this, Barry. It didn't seem right, somehow, for me to ever
find honest-to-gosh gold sands. All my adventures have proved dreams.
This is about right."

"Right! Then sleep on it. It isn't right to me, by a jugful, Little.
Here!" he called one of his crew. "Bring that rope, and I'll see whether
these fellows are playing straight with us."

One by one the sailor passed down the line of natives, tying each man
securely until only the spokesman remained free. This man Barry turned
towards the hut, and said to him:

"If you speak truth, you're all right. Lie, and you're all wrong, my
lad. Take the gear you want for washing and get out into the river. Go
right to it, if you want to save your skin. Let me see if there's gold
or not there." He turned to the rest and told them: "You'll all have a
chance. The man who brings me dust is free. The others--" he finished
with a suggestive gesture that they could not misunderstand.

"All ri', sar," replied the man, taking up his gear, "suppose I die, no
can help. I tell you no gol' here, sar, dat's true." And as the fellow
waded into the river, his companions echoed in dismay:

"No, sar. No gol' in dis river. He some udder place."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The cry o