With the side of his foot he tore away the rubble from the quartz outcropping. There, just where he had been kneeling, he discovered a narrow vein of the bird’s-eye porphyry such as he had found at the cabin. Here, then, lay the object of all his tiresome prospecting. So far as he could judge, with only his hands and feet for digging, the vein averaged about eight inches in width. Whether the porphyry formed a wall for the quartz he could not tell at the surface; but he hoped fervently that it did. With hematite, gray quartz and bird’s-eye porphyry he would have the ideal combination for a rich, permanent gold mine. And Pat, he reflected breathlessly, might really have her millions after all. He picked up what he believed to be average samples of the vein and started back down the bluff, his imagination building air castles, mostly for Patricia. If he dramatized the event and cast himself for the leading man playing opposite Patricia, who was the star, surely he had earned the right to paint rose tints across the veil that hid his future and hers. He had forgotten all about the cat; but when he reached the cabin, there she was at his heels looking extremely self-satisfied and waving her tail with a gentle air of importance. Gary laid his ore samples on the table and stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at Faith with a peculiar expression in his eyes. Suddenly he smiled endearingly at the cat, stooped and picked her up, holding her by his two hands so that he could look into her eyes. “Doggone you, Faith, I wish to heck you could talk! I wouldn’t put it past you to think like humans. I’ll bet you’ve been trying all along to show me that outcropping. And I thought you were hunting mice and birds and gophers just like a plain, ordinary cat! You can’t tell _me_--you knew all about that gold! I’ll bet you’ve got a name all picked out for the mine, too. But it won’t go, I’ll tell a meddlesome world. That is, unless you’ve decided it ought to be called ‘The Pat Connolly.’ Because that’s the way it’s going on record, if Handsome Gary has anything to say about it--and I rather think he has!” Faith blinked at him and mewed understandingly. Gary wooled her a bit and put her down, considerately smoothing down the fur he had roughed. Faith was a forgiving cat, and she immediately began purring under his fingers. After that she tagged him indefatigably while he got mortar, pestle and pan, and carried them down to a shady spot beside the creek. Gary’s glance strayed often to the bluff while he broke bits off each sample of quartz and dropped them into the iron mortar. Then, with the mortar held firmly between his knees, Gary picked up the eight-inch length of iron with the round knob on the end and began to pulverize the ore. For a full quarter of an hour the quiet air of the grove throbbed to the steady _pung, pung, pung_, of the iron pestle striking upon rock particles in the deep iron bowl.