thread that was to lead them to the beginning of the quest.
Stone began to see clearly the method in Lyman's apparent madness. He realized the truth in the old prospector's saying that he knew what gold did to men. Stone was conscious of subtle changes in himself since the specimens and the dust from the quills had been shown. And he felt that the change had not been for the better. He could see its counterpart in Lefty and in Healy. He was conscious of a suspicion toward all other men, of a desire to hoard jealously his own share of the secret, to speculate on how much the total wealth would be, how much the placer might pan out, to wonder if there was really enough for the four of them—including the girl Madge, if they found her.
Lyman had talked of millions and Stone found himself thinking in terms of millions. Admitting the chance to own one, sums that had hitherto seemed stupendous, beyond sober thought, appeared perfectly relevant. He would know how to spend them far better than Lefty, or even Healy. And in the prospect of spending, to one of Stone's temperament and experience, many vistas opened.
He found himself getting narrow, jaundiced, tinged with the hue of the metal, hardening a little in anticipation; like another Midas, every energy bent upon discovery. And he saw how Lyman had foreseen all this, and far more. Three men, each with a full possession of the secret, might easily quarrel. Their natures were widely variant. Men who have
