Shaped
somewhat like a horn-of-plenty, it weighed in the neighborhood
of three ounces.
"Say, if there are many more like that down at the foot of the
shaft this old hole-in-the-ridge will be a producer before another
week is out!" answered one of the workmen. "How much is it worth,
boss?"
"Allowing for the quartz that streaks this little gold-piece,
it ought to be worth from forty to fifty dollars," Tom responded
thoughtfully.
"Fifty dollars?" broke in Jim Ferrers, as he sprang from the top
ladder to the ground. "Is there that much money on the Indian
Smoke?"
"Not minted, of course," laughed Tom. "But here's something as
good as money."
"Where did you get it?" Jim demanded, tersely, after one look
at the nugget.
"In this ore-dump."
"Today's send-up, then?"
"Of course."
Without a word Ferrers fell at work on the pile of rocks, turning
them over fast.
Tom helped him. The two men, released from hoisting duty, also
aided.
"Nothing more like that sticking out of the rock," Jim grunted,
turning to one of the men.
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