From this in turn
he shook a small buckskin sack. He smoothed the calico, untied a
shoestring from the sack's mouth, and let a stream of dun-colored dust
run out. It shone in the firelight in a slow sifting rivulet, here and
there a bright flake like a spangle sending out a yellow spark.
Several times a solid particle obstructed the lazy flow, which broke
upon it like water on a rock, dividing and sinking in two heavy
streams. It poured with unctious deliberation till the sack was empty,
and the man held it up to show the powdered dust of dust clinging to
the inside.
"That's three weeks' washing on the river across the valley beyond
Sacramento," he said, "and it's worth four thousand dollars in the
United States mint."
The pile shone yellow in the fire's even glow, and they stared at it,
wonderstruck, each face showing a sudden kindling of greed, the longing
to possess, to know the power and peace of wealth. It came with added
sharpness in the midst of their bare distress. Even the girl felt it,
leaning forward to gloat with brightened eyes on the little pyramid.
David forgot his injuries and craned his neck to listen, dreams once
more astir.
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