"Well, mebby yo’re right, Marshal," admitted Blascom. He took the rod again. "That sump of mine is located in a rocky basin that’s full of sand. Th’ downstream side is that hog-back. That means that there’s a thunderin’ big, natural riffle in th’ bed of th’ crick, an’ it’s stopped and held th’ sand till th’ basin was full. Every freshet that comes along riles that sand up, lots of it bein’ washed over th’ riffle, an’ carried along. More sand settles there as th’ water quits rushin’; but here’s th’ pint." He jabbed at Denver and drew a line into the Gilpin County country, stopping at Central City. "Gold is heavy, an’ it don’t wash over riffles if it can settle down in front of ’em. While th’ sand is soft from bein’ disturbed by a strong current, it can settle. Ever since that crick has been a crick, gold has been settlin’ in front of that riffle, droppin’ down through th’ sand till it hit th’ rock bottom. Great Jehovah, Marshal--can you figger what I got?" Tex roughly took the cleaning rod, traced a line in sudden vexation, slammed the rod on the floor behind him, and fanned his face with his hat. "An’ how long you been settin’ on that?" he asked in weary hopelessness. Blascom waved his arms and slumped back against the chair. "Three years," he confessed, and went off into a profane description of his intelligence that left nothing to imagination. Tex laughed heartily. "If you was as bad as you just said I’d shore have to take you in. Cheer up, man: it’s there, ain’t it? You only have to git it out." Blascom looked at him reproachfully. "Shore: that’s all," he retorted with sarcasm. "Git it out before th’ rain starts again, an’ do it without Jake catchin’ me at it! If he learns what I got, I’m in for no sweet dreams; an’ if this starvin’ bunch of gold hunters learn about it, I’ll be swamped in th’ rush! Good Lord, man! It’ll take me a week to git th’ water out, an’ then there’s th’ sand!" Tex stretched, caught sight of a rider bobbing along the C Bar trail and looked reflectively at Williams’ Mecca. "You got to get some dynamite or blastin’ powder. Dynamite’s better. Put some sticks on th’ down-stream side of that rock riffle an’ wait till Jake comes into town. You crack that riffle open an’ th’ water will move out for you. Then you can dig down th’ other face of it an’ get to th’ pocket a lot quicker." He laughed suddenly. "Do that blastin’. Then when Jake gets back to his shack, saunter over with a jug of whiskey an’ forget to take it home with you. That’ll give you a solid week for yore diggin’ without him botherin’ you." "Good idea," said Blascom, arising. "I’ll go over an’ see if Williams has got any sticks. That’s th’ way to handle it, Marshal. You ever do any prospectin’?"