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CHRONICLES OF THE CARIBOO. . 23

elly beach where he understood some Indians had found it. But now
there was no beach, but Sellers and Crow laughed at that as the former
said to him: “Baptiste, you sure are the best hunter and guide in the
world. And a damn good friend to boot. There’s none fe beat you theres
but you’re no miner. ‘How could you be?” ‘

“Right - you are,” agreed Crow, “All he Gereed to do was ie show
us this river and he’s done that in fine style. It’s up to us to find the
gold now and I’m telling you this layout looks good to me. , This low
flat once the bed of the river and this bench here where it’s moved |

By this time Dunlevey and some of the others had joined the three.
It was evident Dunlevey was having all he could co to suppress his
excitement. His voice ringing with enthusiasm he said: “Well, boys,
We're here! We’re here! This is the river all right. Now its up to us
to find this gold.” Turning to the Indian he held out his hand, which
Baptiste grasped eagerly; for he was disturbed that he couldn’t show
these men some of the gold they were so crazy about, as he thought.

“Baptiste, you are one tip-top guide,” complimented the glowing
miner. “Best I ever saw or heard of. You’ve done your job fine.” Then
noting the big Indian’s troubled manner he continued: “We’ll find the
gold, old man, don’t worry. That’s our business and I agree with Crow
this layout looks good to me, too.” Then noting the Indian’s wistful
glance at the others as if for confirmation, he called out: “Everybody
up and shake hands with our guide for his grand job of fetching us
here!” Of course they all responded, not only heartily but boisterous-
ly, catching their leader’s enthusiasm, and executed what they fondly
imagined to be a sort of war dance around the stately Indian.

Pee a, War dance’ or not; their enthusi-
asm got him too. He couldn’t hold
the stately dignified pose in that
prancing yelling bunch of crazy
white men. And besides, the In-
dian loves a bit of ceremony to
celebrate any special event, be it
happy or tragic. So he succumbed
to the moment’s magic witchery
and was soon war hopping the
highest and yelling the loudest in
that whirling circle of celebrants.
All except Ira Crow, the inveterate
miner, who had seized the first
chance to dodge back to his pros-
pect hole. Presently the others |
“Wizard was he in picking heard him on the bank of the river:
likely ground and making it “Hi boys, here she is! She’s here
yield gold.” all right! Come an’ look at her!”

The war dance ceased abruptly.

Looking in his direction they saw

shakes, swings and sways to his

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