had emptied the Goblet. And now, as he looked up, men marked that even the face of Bill Steele had gone tense.
"Turk!" he shouted, as he saw Wilson's ruddy face among the others above him. "Come down here! Rice," as Turk's partner peered down after him, "get the men busy all along the flume, making sure it's safe. I don't want the water rushing back in here while I'm here."
Bill Rice obeyed wordlessly and withdrew his men, feeling just as they did, that they were being removed because Steele didn't care to be watched just now. Turk, his big hands upon the rope down which Steele had slid over the smooth, water-worn sides of the Goblet, made his swift descent.
"What's up?" he demanded. "Headin' for Chiny, Bill?"
"Know what you're standing on, Turk?" asked Steele quickly.
Turk looked disdainfully down at the sand and mud which had risen high about his boots. A particular man about his footwear was Turk Wilson, and these boots were not a week old.
"The damnedest, wettest slush I ever dropped into," he grunted disgustedly. "What's the game, anyway, Bill? If you was wantin' water power to do somethin' with …"
"You are standing," Steele told him sharply, "on solid gold, man! I don't know how deep it is, but by the Lord, I believe it's ten feet through! Figure it
