"Don't put in too much dirt at once, boy," he cautioned. "Half full is enough. That's right. Now sink it to the rim in the water, and swirl it around and back again, so the current will carry the dirt off. Don't be afraid to keep it moving. That's it. The gold is heavy, you know; the dirt goes and the gold stays behind. Whoa'p! Let's see. No, it's all gone, this time. You've washed the pan clean. Try again. Take things easy." That proved to be no easy job, though. The pan was large, the dirt and water weighted it down, and as Charley squatted and tried to swirl it around, at just the right level, presently his back and his arms were aching together. "Slow, now," bade his instructor, becoming interested. "Raise the pan a bit and swash the water--flip it out along with the dirt, a little at a time. Be careful of that black sand--it's heavy and carries the gold. Here; I'll get rid of the sand for you," and taking the pan he cleverly swirled it, occasionally dipping up more water, until the sand had flowed off. "There you are!" he laughed, gaily thrusting the pan back into Charley's hands. "And there's your color, sure enough. See it? A ten-cent pan, the first time. Good!" Charley anxiously peered. In the rounded angle of bottom and side, a narrow gleam of yellow! Could it be possible? Yes; there it was, the gold; actually, real gold, and he had washed it--or at least, he had washed most of it. "Shall I try some more?" he asked, excitedly. "Sure. Go ahead. We always wash several pans, before we clean up. Now do it all yourself. You know how." This time Charley succeeded in getting rid of everything but a very little of the sand; and behold, the yellow seam was deeper. After the third pan he could wait no longer; he out with his buckskin sack, and with the point of his knife scooped his gold in. A little sand went along with it, but who cared? "We'd better quit for the night, I guess," remarked his new friend, who appeared as delighted as he. "I expect you've made as much as half a dollar. Now it's time for tenderfeet to go to bed." Through the dusk Charley trudged back to the fire, with his pan and his gold, feeling much indeed like a regular Forty-niner. His father and Mr. Grigsby were sitting by the fire, talking, when in he burst upon them. "I got some! I got some!" panted Charley. "Did you? All right. Show up." "It's in my sack. See?" And Charley "showed." "I didn't stay to pan much. But I learned how." "A trace of gold, and considerable sand," pronounced Mr. Grigsby. "But that's enough, for a starter--only you want to dry that stuff out, lad, and blow the sand away. Understand?"