One afternoon late, after they had toiled up a white, winding wash
of sand and gravel, they came upon a dry waterhole. Cameron dug
deep into the sand, but without avail. He was turning to retrace
weary steps back to the last water when his comrade asked him to
wait. Cameron watched him search in his pack and bring forth
what appeared to be a small, forked branch of a peach tree. He
grasped the prongs of the fork and held them before him with the
end standing straight out, and then he began to walk along the
stream bed. Cameron, at first amused, then amazed, then pitying,
and at last curious, kept pace with the prospector. He saw a
strong tension of his comrade's wrists, as if he was holding hard
against a considerable force. The end of the peach branch began to
quiver and turn. Cameron reached out a hand to touch it, and was
astounded at feeling a powerful vibrant force pulling the branch
downward. He felt it as a magnetic shock. The branch kept turning,
and at length pointed to the ground.

"Dig here," said the prospector.

"What!" ejaculated Cameron. Had the man lost his mind?

Then Cameron stood by while his comrade dug in the sand. Three feet
he dug--four--five, and the sand grew dark, then moist. At six
feet water began to seep through.

"Get the little basket in my pack," he said.

Cameron complied, and saw his comrade drop the basket into the deep
hole, where it kept the sides from caving in and allowed the water
to seep through. While Cameron watched, the basket filled. Of all