"What’s that?" I cried. But indeed I guessed what these dirty yellow things were. Apache Kid scooped up a handful and gave them but one glance. He was excited, I could see; but it was when he most felt excitement that this man schooled himself the most. "Francis," said he, "there is, as many great men have written, compensation in all things. I think our journey will not be such a folly after all." "These are gold nuggets?" said I. "Our fortunes are——" and then I remembered that I had already received my wages and that none of this was mine. "Your fortune is made," said I, correcting myself. He smiled a queer little smile at my words. "Well," he said, "if this indicates anything, my fortune is made in the only way I could ever make a fortune." "Indicates?" I said. "How do you mean?" "Pooh!" said he, turning the little, brass-looking peas in his hand. "These would hardly be called a fortune. Even a bagful of these such as you have unearthed don’t run to very much. There is more of this sort of stuff in our cabin," said he. I was a little mystified. "Search!" he said. "Search! That is enough for the present. If our labours are rewarded, then I will give you an outline of the manner and customs of the Genus Prospector—a queer, interesting race." We thought little now of filling up the holes in that cabin. It was more a work of dismantling that we began upon, I probing all around the eaves, Apache Kid picking away with one of the miners’ picks, beginning systematically at one end of the cabin and working along. "Here," I cried, "here is another," for I had come upon just such another sack and quickly undid the string. "Why, what is this?" said I. "What are these?" He took the bag and examined a handful of the contents—the green and the blue stones. "This," said he, "is another sign of the customs of these men. This was Jackson’s little lot, I expect; the man the Poorman boys picked up. Jackson was a long time in the Gila country." "But what are they?" I said. "Why, turquoises," replied Apache Kid. "Turquoises in America?" I said. "Yes," said he, "and a good American turquoise can easily match your Persian variety." He went over and sat down upon his stool. "I don’t like this," said he, disgustedly, and I waited his meaning. "Fancy!" he cried, and then paused and said: "Fancy? You don’t need to fancy! You see it here before you. When I say fancy, what I mean is this: Can you put yourself, by any effort of imagination, into the ego of a man who has a fortune in either of his boot-soles, a fortune in his belt, a fortune in the lining of his old overcoat, and yet goes on hunting about in the mountain seeking more wealth, grovelling about like a mole? Can you get in touch with such a man? Can you discover in your soul the possibility of going and doing likewise? If you can, then you’re not the man I took you for." "They did n’t get these turquoises here, then?" I said.