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“Man, I feel I just want to holler!” he cried in a sudden outburst, breaking up the silence which was so much their habit. “Say, I just can’t get a grip on the nature of a boy who sits around doping out ham an’ eggs with the knowledge of a thing like this back of his mind. He’s all sorts of a sheer damn fool——”

“Is he?”

Jim had removed his pipe. He had turned his big, thoughtful eyes on the man contemplating the heaped treasure. Len was gazing at him, his smile of delight completely passed from his dark face.

They were both big creatures. Broad, and enormously muscular, a picture of virile capacity and latent human energy. Jim’s eyes were frankly wide and blue as the distant sea, set in a face whose skin lent itself to a deep, florid sunburn. Len was dark-eyed and dark-skinned. He was burned to the mahogany of a nigger. Both were clad in barely sufficient clothing to meet the demands of decency.

For a moment Len stared at his companion. Then his smile slowly returned.

“Say, Jim, boy, ain’t ther’ a darn thing in all this to set you crazy to shout?” He shook his head. “It’s no sort of use. Your head’s always ready to shelter every old bogey it can collect. Two an’ a bit years of hell! That’s what it’s been. The folks guessed we were bug. The yarn of a ham-slingin’ Chink. A river of gold! An’ I guess we came nigh breakin’ our folks for outfit. Well, it’s ours. All of it. An’ I guess we can pay our folk a hundred times over. It’s a strike to unship the world’s financial balance. Psha! It’s so big——”