Cribbens went on
ahead, muttering to himself from time to time:
"Runs right along here, even enough, and here's water too. Didn't know
this stream was here; pretty near dry, though. Here's the slate again.
See where it runs, pardner?"
"Look at it up there ahead," said McTeague. "It runs right up over the
back of this hill."
"That's right," assented Cribbens. "Hi!" he shouted suddenly, "HERE'S A
'CONTACT,' and here it is again, and there, and yonder. Oh, look at
it, will you? That's granodiorite on slate. Couldn't want it any more
distinct than that. GOD! if we could only find the quartz between the
two now."
"Well, there it is," exclaimed McTeague. "Look on ahead there; ain't
that quartz?"
"You're shouting right out loud," vociferated Cribbens, looking where
McTeague was pointing. His face went suddenly pale. He turned to the
dentist, his eyes wide.
"By God, pardner," he exclaimed, breathlessly. "By God--" he broke off
abruptly.
"That's what you been looking for, ain't it?" asked the dentist.
"LOOKING for! LOOKING for!" Cribbens checked himself. "That's SLATE all
right, and that's granodiorite, I know"--he bent down and examined the
rock--"and here's the quartz between 'em; there can't be no mistake
about that.
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