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Sinclair, Bertrand W., 1881-1972

"Raw Gold A Novel"


We had no thought of spying on them, at first--it was simply to be rid
of their onerous presence for a while, and getting on the bench was an
afterthought. But as we came opposite camp, MacRae took a notion to look
down and see what they were about. At a point which overlooked the
bottom some two hundred yards from the east end of the Stone, we got
down on our stomachs and wriggled carefully to the naked rim of the
cliff. For some time we laid there, peering down at the men below. Hicks
was puttering around the fire, evidently cooking supper, and Gregory was
moving the picket rope of his horse to fresh grass. There was nothing
out of the ordinary to be seen, and I drew back. But MacRae still kept
his place. When he did back away from the edge, he had the look of a man
who has made some important discovery.
"On my soul, I believe I've found it," he calmly announced.
"What!"
"I believe I have," he repeated, a trace of exultation in his tone. "At
least, it amounts to the same thing. Crawl up there again, Sarge, and
look straight down at the first ledge from the bottom. Hurry; you won't
see anything if the sun has left it. And be careful how you show your
head. We don't want to get them stirred up till we have to."
Cautiously I peeped over the brink, straight down as Mac had directed.


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