you have only the black sand at the bottom. Then work that the same way
until you see the color. Don't be afraid of washing the gold out of the
pan--you couldn't do it if you tried. There, I'll leave you here, and
you wait till I come back." With another grave nod and something like a
smile in the only visible part of his bearded face--his eyes--he strode
rapidly away.

Clarence did not lose time. Selecting a spot where the grass was less
thick, he broke through the soil and turned up two or three spadefuls of
red soil. When he had filled the pan and raised it to his shoulder, he
was astounded at its weight. He did not know that it was due to the red
precipitate of iron that gave it its color. Staggering along with his
burden to the running sluice, which looked like an open wooden gutter,
at the foot of the hill, he began to carefully carry out Flynn's
direction. The first dip of the pan in the running water carried off
half the contents of the pan in liquid paint-like ooze. For a moment he
gave way to boyish satisfaction in the sight and touch of this unctuous
solution, and dabbled his fingers in it. A few moments more of rinsing
and he came to the sediment of fine black sand that was beneath it.
Another plunge and swilling of water in the pan, and--could he believe
his eyes!--a few yellow tiny scales, scarcely larger than pins' heads,
glittered among the sand. He poured it off. But his companion was right;
the lighter sand shifted from side to side with the water, but the
glittering points remained adhering by their own tiny specific gravity
to the smooth surface of the bottom. It was "the color"--gold!

Clarence's heart seemed to give a great leap within him. A vision of
wealth, of independence, of power, sprang before his dazzled eyes,
and--a hand lightly touched him on the shoulder.