When he got another hundred and twenty he would go; he would make his way down to San Francisco, and then by ship to Panama and up to New York, and then west again to the village where he was born.

There would be people there who would know him, and who would give him work for his mother's sake.

He did not care what it was; anything would be better than this.

Then his thoughts came back to Pine Tree Gulch, and he started to his feet.

Could he be mistaken?
Were his eyes deceiving him?
No; among the stones and boulders of the old bed of the Yuba there was the gleam of water, and even as he watched it he could see it widening out.