"What you mean, chasin’ me like that?" he shouted. "Gosh!" panted Hank as he drew near. "That was shore close! An’ for an old man yo’re a runnin’ fool. Jack rabbits an’ coyotes can cover ground, but they can’t stack up ag’in’ you. Did you see him?" Sinful, one boot on and the other balanced in his hand, looked up. "No, I didn’t; did you?" he demanded, suspicion burning in his old eyes. "Shore," answered Hank, lying with a facile ease due to much practice. "He suddenly busted out of th’ door with a rifle in his hands an’ headed for his sand pile. I dusted lively, heaved th’ pebble; an’ here we are." He cast an apprehensive glance behind him and then sharply admonished his friend. "Hustle, you! Yo’re settin’ there like there ain’t no mad miner projectin’ around in th’ brush with a Winchester! Think I want to git shot?" "I reckon mebby you ought to," retorted Sinful, struggling erect and trying each tender foot in turn. "Stone bruises, cuts, an’ stickers, an’ all because you git in a panic!" he growled. "Come on, you old fool: there’s a pool of water in th’ crick, t’other side of th’ railroad bridge. Yo’re too smart, you are. Mebby yore eyes’ll pop out when you see what’s in this here can. Great guns, what a sight I’ve seen!" Panning gold in a tomato can might be difficult for a novice, but Sinful’s cunning old hands did the work speedily and well. After repeated refillings and mystic gyrations he carefully poured out the last of the water and peered eagerly into the can, bumping his head solidly against his companion’s, for Hank was as eagerly curious. Sinful placed it reverently on the creek bank and looked at his staring friend. "An’ only a canful," he muttered in awe. "Glory!" breathed Hank, and looked again to make sure. "Nothin’ but dust--but Good Lord!" He packed a vile pipe with viler tobacco, lit it, and arose. "No wonder he grabbed his gun an’ dusted for his sand pile! Come on, Sinful: we got a long walk ahead of us, some quick packin’ to do, an’ a long walk back ag’in. If we only could get a couple of mules, we’d load ’em with three-hundred pounds apiece an’ go down th’ crick a day’s journey. It’d be worth it."