Fifty yards from them ran the stream; a clear, beautiful stream which flowed in the direction from which the mysterious ramble of thunder seemed to come.
This, Aldous knew, was the stream of gold.

In the sand he saw wreckage which he knew were the ancient rockers; a shovel, thrust shaft-deep, still remained where it had last been planted.
Perhaps for ten minutes Donald MacDonald remained in the cabin.

Then he came out.

Very carefully he closed the door.

His shoulders were thrown back.