"Nothing in mine," said Brace, "and--nothing in Briscoe's." "Wrong," said the American: "you're new to the work, anyone can tell. There's plenty here to pay well." "What!" cried Brace. "Why, I can't see a bit of metal." "Look again," said Briscoe, and, dipping his shallow bowl, he gave it a clever twist to get rid of the water again and leave the fine sand spread all round and over the bottom. He held the bowl full in the sunshine, with the last drops of water draining off. "Now," he said, turning to Brace, "what can you see?" "Nothing at all," said Brace. "Nothing?" "Well, there's a tiny speck, and something that looks just yellowish right in the middle there. But you don't call that gold?" "Well, it isn't silver," said Briscoe, laughing, "so I do call it gold." "Absurd!" said Brace. "Oh, no, it isn't. That's good gold, and if properly treated the sand and gravel are rich enough to pay well." "When I go gold-washing I shall want to be where you can find nuggets and scales in plenty," said Brace. "Ah, so I suppose," replied Briscoe. "You wouldn't be content with a quartz reef with nothing in it visible, but which when powdered up and treated gave a couple of ounces of pure gold for every ton of rock that was broken out and crushed, would you?" "Certainly not," replied Brace. "Plenty make fortunes out of it, though, on such terms, and don't turn up their noses at a reef if they can get one ounce of it of a ton. This riverbed's rich, Sir Humphrey, and ready for explorers and prospectors. But let's try that sand-bank yonder, farther out." The trio had to wade through a channel knee-deep to get to the long sand-spit, for the most part bare, but over a part of which an inch or two of clear water trickled. Here the same process was gone 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.