“I guess the thing done itself,” he concluded, as he reloaded his piece, and scrutinized a moment or two longer. As he moved away, he occasionally turned his head and glanced back, but saw nothing to renew his suspicions, and by the time he had passed a hundred yards down the valley, he had come to the opinion that there was but one eye that was surveying his movements--and that was the eye that looked upon him in kindness and mercy, as it does upon all mortals. Still no signs of gold. He was now following the course of the stream down the valley. In some places it brawled over stones, with a noise that shut out all other sounds, and then it flowed calmly and still, like the current of a deep river. It was of crystal clearness, and there was no place where he could not distinguish the bottom, as easily as though it were “liquid air” floating at his feet. “Wonder ef thar’s any use of my wadin’ in thar, turnin’ over them stones, and lookin’ under them--” Suddenly he paused. What did he see? He looked steadily a moment, and his heart gave a jump, as he plainly distinguished something yellow glistening in the center of the bed. The next instant he had plunged into the stream, which was about a foot in depth, and thrusting his arm down, brought it to the surface and held it up to view. Yes; it was a solid lump of pure gold! Black Tom was certain of it. It was about the size of a hen’s egg, very heavy, and bright and glistening. There could be no doubt of its nature. He waded ashore again, and then “hefted” it, turned it over and over, tossed it in the air, caught it, smelled of it, put his tongue to it and was delighted. Why should he not be delighted? Was not this what had brought him to this region? Was it not worth more than many days’ labor of trapping? “That’s the fust crop!” he exclaimed, as he carefully put it away about his person; “and it follers that thar must be more of the same sort ’bout hyar.” The day was quite cool, and he was pretty wet; but he felt it not. His feelings were excited, and he was tenfold more anxious for the precious metal than he had ever been before. It seemed as if there was an all-controlling appetite that had hitherto been latent, that was now aroused to action, and that overcame every other emotion. He thought nothing now of personal danger. Gold, gold, was his thirst, and it led him on his eager search. The trapper walked along the edge of the stream, totally oblivious to every thing but the one thing that just then occupied his thoughts, to the exclusion of every thing else. Several minutes passed thus, when he was aroused from this condition by a sharp voice, calling almost in his very ears: “Hello there!” Starting back, Tom looked up and saw Fred Hammond standing a few feet in front of him. “What’s the matter?” asked the hunter. “You must get out of here, without a moment’s delay.”