Part 30 (1/2)

So he did, and so did all.

The only possible place to commence operations lay close to the banks of a turbulent river that came winding down through a pine-clad mountain land.

Silently, almost solemnly the trio worked, speaking but little, hanging on to their pipes (if I may use so strange a phrase), and hanging on to spade, and pick, and shovel.

All that day, and next, and next. About the coming of the fourth day, there was a shout from McGregor's claim.

”Hurrah, boys! Hurrah, boys! Run here, lads, run here!”

They did run.

McGregor held up before their astonished gaze a nugget of almost pure gold as big as a baby's shoe.

More gold was found every day for a week, and in gradually increasing quant.i.ties. They were already in possession of about three hundred pounds' worth. No wonder they rejoiced. No wonder they were merry.

Now, around the camp fire, what stories are told, what songs are sung, what castles in the air are built!

They will all be millionaires. Archie says he is going to have a nice mansion down in the Clachan, and close by the riverside, and will fish there and in the sea just as when he was a boy. Nothing will satisfy Kenneth but a house near the fairy knoll. He pulls out the old Bible, Nannie's gift, and opens it. There lie the withered flowers, and looking at them sets him a-thinking and a-wondering and a-dreaming.

”Little Jessie,” he says to himself, ”can she still be alive? Is it possible she might one day be mine?”

He restores the flowers, restores the Book of books, and lies back to gaze at the starry sky and think.

But he is not allowed to.

”Out with the flute, Kennie,” cries Archie. ”Oh, play me some dear auld Scottish lilt, that will make tears of joy well up in our eyes?”

Kenneth plays tune after tune, air after air; and then the trio join voices and sing ”My native Highland home” till the woods ring and pine trees nod, and distant rocks send back the chorus.

There is hardly any need of a blanket to-night, for the day has been hot, and look, even now clouds are rolling slowly up and hiding the half-moon. Great round clouds they are, and little dark water-dog clouds lie nearer the earth, and seem to perch and leap from top to top of the pine trees, like birds of evil omen.

A storm is brewing.

By-and-bye, from far over the hills comes the muttering growl of distant thunder. Presently clouds go scurrying overhead, and a bright flash is followed by a rattling peal.

Rain, and terrible rain, followed, and the wind began to rise. The camp fire is drowned out, and our trio are fain to seek the shelter of a cave on the wooded hillside. None too soon; with a cras.h.i.+ng roar, louder and more continued than any thunder ever heard, the storm bursts upon them with hurricane force. And all that night it continues. The pine trees have fallen in all directions. The river has risen in spate. Through the darkness they can see the ghostly glimmer of its foam, and they can hear the hurtling sound of the mighty boulders as they roll along.

Morning came at last, grim and grey.

”Saint Mary! what a scene is here!”

The whole face of the country is altered in appearance. Where is their claim, their gold mine, their hope of fortune, their joy of the previous evening? All swept away or buried in chaos.

Just three weeks after this fearful storm Kenneth and Archie bade good-bye to their friend and comrade Harvey McGregor. He had given up all hopes of finding fortune, and was returning to Scotland to claim his property.

They bade him good-bye at New Westminster. Then, hand in hand as if they were boys once more, they turned their backs to the coast, and went away towards the mountains.

”Archie,” said Kenneth, ”there is gold to be got among these hills, but _not_ by digging.”

”You are right.”