Manifestly these told Yaqui he had come to the spot for which he had
aimed.

Then his actions became swift--and Yaqui seldom moved swiftly. The fact
impressed Gale. The Indian searched the level floor under the shelf.
He gathered up handfuls of small black stones, and thrust them at Gale.
Their weight made Gale start, and then he trembled. The Indian's next
move was to pick up a piece of weathered rock and throw it against the
wall. It broke. He snatched up parts, and showed the broken edges to
Gale. They contained yellow steaks, dull glints, faint tracings of
green. It was gold.

Gale found his legs shaking under him; and he sat down, trying to take
all the bits of stone into his lap. His fingers were all thumbs as
with knife blade he dug into the black pieces of rock. He found gold.
Then he stared down the slope, down into the valley with its river
winding forlornly away into the desert. But he did not see any of
that. Here was reality as sweet, as wonderful, as saving as a dream
come true. Yaqui had led him to a ledge of gold. Gale had learned
enough about mineral to know that this was a rich strike. All in a
second he was speechless with the joy of it. But his mind whirled in
thought about this strange and noble Indian, who seemed never to be
able to pay a debt. Belding and the poverty that had come to him!
Nell, who had wept over the loss of a spring! Laddy, who never could
ride again! Jim Lash, who swore he would always look after his friend!
Thorne and Mercedes! All these people, who had been good to him and
whom he loved, were poor. But now they would be rich. They would one
and all be his partners. He had discovered the source of Forlorn
River, and was rich in water. Yaqui had made him rich in gold. Gale
wanted to rush down the slope, down into the valley, and tell his
wonderful news.

Suddenly his eyes cleared and he saw the pile of stones. His blood
turned to ice, then to fire. That was the mark of a prospector's
claim. But it was old, very old. The ledge had never been worked, the
slope was wild. There was not another single indication that a
prospector had ever been there. Where, then, was he who had first
staked this claim? Gale wondered with growing hope, with the fire
easing, with the cold passing.

The Yaqui uttered the low, strange, involuntary cry so rare with him, a
cry somehow always associated with death. Gale shuddered.

The Indian was digging in the sand and dust