It worked beautifully. Next evening, Percival was hungry again, tired, but there was about him an air of elation, elaborately concealed. Dog, getting an early start again, planted two more nuggets, and on the following day, the final two from the pouch. At the close of each day upon which a planting had been made, Percival was hungry, tired but elated, and elaborately concealing his elation. Ducky had another idea, an idea unique for sheer craziness. He led Percival, with elaborate caution, onto the side porch, and pointed to the washing-machine. “I understand you’ve been digging up the creek,” he whispered. “A little,” admitted Percival. “Get much?” “Not much.” “Thought so. I’ve got an idea. Your method is too slow--you don’t get over enough dirt in a day. We’ll start in the morning, early, just you and me, and we’ll take this washing-machine up the creek a bit and plant her solid, and shovel dirt and gravel into her. She’s rigged, you see, so that the dirt from the clothes will settle in this place at the bottom. Well, now, suppose we take a saw and make some slits in her sides--get me? No? Why, the idea is simple enough, and practical. The water and dirt and little rocks slip out of the slits in the side, but the gold settles in the bottom, where the dirt is supposed to settle when you use the rig for washing clothes. How’s that?” Percival nodded, and for the first time since coming to Too Dry, he smiled. “Don’t tell anybody. Nobody’s interested in this washing-machine and it wont be missed. You slide in now, and up to bed and get a big sleep, and I’ll call you at daybreak and we’ll eat a cold bite for breakfast and sneak up the creek before Dog and Spud are stirring.” When the boy had gone, he told Dog. “The scheme is crazy, of course, but it’ll keep him interested a few days longer, and if he once gets used to this country, and gets a little flesh on him, he’ll be a man, and we’re going to need a man bad before long to help in the branding.” Dog nodded. The scheme was good--for what it was meant to accomplish. “We need a little more salt, though,” he added. “Wait a minute.” Again he went to the trunk and engaged in profane search, returning at last with a nugget mounted on a pin. “Forgot this one,” he said, and wrenched the pin from where it was soldered to the back of the nugget. “Take this and plant it.” * * * * * The washing-machine rocking device kept Percival happy all next day, and his eye was lighted by a particularly bright gleam of elation as he settled to the fried pork and beans at dinner next night. “If we just had about one more piece of salt,” mourned Ducky, after Percival had climbed the ladder, but Dog shook his head. The stick-pin had cleaned the place of nuggets. “We’ve done all we can,” he said. “I wish he’d find something of his own.”