streaming like limber stalactites, his boots loosely "squishing,"
while oaths still poured from him in such profusion that Dextry
whispered:

"Ain't he a ring-tailed wonder? It's plumb solemn an' reverent the
way he makes them untamed cuss-words sit up an' beg. It's a
privilege to be present. That's a GIFT, that is."

"You'd better get some dry clothes," they suggested, and Slapjack
proceeded a few paces towards the tents, hobbling as though
treading on pounded glass.

"Ow--w!" he yelled. "These blasted boots is full of gravel."

He seated himself and tugged at his foot till the boot came away
with a sucking sound, then, instead of emptying the accumulation
at random, he poured the contents into Dextry's empty gold-pan,
rinsing it out carefully. The other boot he emptied likewise. They
held a surprising amount of sediment, because the stream that had
emerged from the crack in the sluices had carried with it pebbles,
sand, and all the concentration of the riffles at this point.
Standing directly beneath the cataract, most of it had dived
fairly into his inviting waistband, following down the lines of
least resistance into his boot-legs and boiling out at the knees.

"Wash that," he said. "You're apt to get a prospect."

With artful passes Dextry settled it in the pan bottom and washed
away the gravel, leaving a yellow, glittering pile which raised a
yell from the men who had lingered curiously.