Instantly they all set to work with a feverish intensity which almost surprised themselves. Poeskop was hunting about on the big spit of sand and shingle, quartering the surface very much as a pointer quarters its ground in search of game. In less than five minutes he had found what he expected, and, holding up between his right finger and thumb a flattish object, which shone perceptibly in the strong sunlight, exclaimed,-- "_Here so, baas! Here is de gelt!_" One and all of the trio searching near him forsook their task and rushed up to him. Mr. Blakeney took the piece of metal from the Bushman’s outstretched hand. It was a flattish nugget, pale yellow in colour, smooth and rounded as to its edges, manifestly much water-worn, and measuring about three inches in length by one in breadth. He examined it very closely, weighed it in his open palm, and said quietly,-- "Yes, that’s gold, right enough. Where that came from there ought to be lots more. Guy, I congratulate you. We have accomplished our object, and I think the search is likely to be a very profitable one." Then, glancing at Poeskop’s delighted expression, he added in Dutch, "Well done, Poeskop; you were quite right. The gold is here. We must now set to work and find all we can. I suppose there’s plenty of it?" "_Banje_ [plenty]!" replied the Bushman, his odd yellow face expanded into the widest grin of which it was capable. "_Banje!_" "Well, now," said Mr. Blakeney, "what we have to do is to explore this place carefully and systematically. To-day, and for the next week, we’ll go over the surface and work our way upstream towards the ravine at the head of the kloof. When we’ve gone over the surface, we’ll set to work with pick and shovel, and wash the gravel and soil. We shall have to knock up some kind of cradle, but I know how to do that. I was on the Lydenburg alluvial fields, in the Eastern Transvaal, in 1875, and saw a good deal of rough mining. I knew at once that this was a real gold nugget. We’ll have a test at the wagon to-night, but I haven’t the least doubt in the world that this nugget, which weighs about four ounces, is the genuine metal. That, at £3, 15s. per ounce, means £15--not by any means a bad result for about five minutes’ work." "Splendid, pater!" put in Tom enthusiastically. "Why, I feel like a millionaire already." As he spoke, he was turning over some gravel with the tip of his boot. "Hullo!" he said, suddenly stooping and picking up something small and bright. "Here’s another!"