At last they reached the summit of the last hill, and looked down upon the plains on the other side.
"It is the place! it is the place!" cried Moreas, almost beside himself with excitement. "Yonder is the river he spoke of, and there, away to the right, is its old course. You can even see the big black rocks that he told me of, rising out of the sand. The Saints be praised, we are here at last! We are here at last!"
So overcome was he by his excitement, that it was as much as Max could do to prevent him from setting off at a run down the hillside. This was the place, then, of which the poor, old, half-witted diamond hunter had told Moreas. The place where diamonds were as large as hazel nuts, and could be had for the picking up. He wondered how true the story would prove to be. For his own part, he was not going to pin too much faith upon it. If it turned out trumps, well and good; if not, he could console himself with the reflection that the old fellow had played off on Moreas a grimmer practical joke than had ever been perpetrated on himself. The afternoon was well spent before they reached a spot which they considered favourable for a camp. Max had already noticed with satisfaction that there was a fair amount of game to be had for the shooting, water was abundant, while for the animals there was a greater supply of herbage than they had seen for many a long day. By this time Moreas' head appeared to be quite turned. They had scarcely reached their camp before he was off to try his luck among the sands of the old river bed.
It was almost dark when he returned. When he did so, however, he shook like a man with the palsy.
"Look what I have found!" he said, scarcely able to contain himself for joy. "The old man did not deceive me after all. They are here. Here, I tell you. I shall be the richest man on earth."
As he spoke he unclasped his fist, and showed Max _two fair-sized diamonds_ lying in the hollow of his hand.
The week following their arrival at their destination was remarkable in more senses than one. After the success which had attended Moreas' search among the sands of the river-bed it was impossible for him to be idle for a moment. It was no sooner light than he was at work; he kept at it with feverish eagerness until darkness fell; and grudged every hour until dawn should reappear again. Under the influence of their success his old antagonism for Max seemed to have left him. If he were not quite so friendly as he had once been, it seemed as if he were at least anxious to make amends for his conduct in the immediate past. One thing, however, puzzled Max more than he liked to say, and made him suspicious of the other's overtures. This was the fact that Moreas invariably preferred to do his work alone, and did not appear to mind very much what excuse he made so long as he achieved his object. It is true that in the evening he invariably added his day's findings to the general store with scrupulous exactness, but on no account would he allow his companion to be present at the washings. Scarcely a day passed without their discovering something of value.