But they never reached the hills. No. The river claimed them. They forgot their fears. They forgot even their contemplated destination. In his own graphic fashion he told them the river was alive with gold. Gold looked up at them out of the pay dirt which composed its bed throughout its whole course. Oh, yes. They tried it out with such means as they had to their hands. But they only collected nuggets of reasonable size and troubled nothing with “dust.” They collected a large quantity and secreted them, and it was this store that ultimately started him on the way to the prosperity he now enjoyed.
After this he endeavoured to study the coast line with a view to making a chart at such time as he might be rescued, for he had never given up the hope that they would ultimately be rescued. And sure enough they were. A storm-driven coasting vessel ran into the mouth of the river for shelter.
They were taken on board and clothed. But they kept their secret of the gold, determined, should opportunity ever offer, to come again and work it. On the plea of desiring to know the position of the territory which had been so disastrous to them, the skipper of the boat was induced to give them the exact bearings of the river mouth, and later, Charlie Wun Lee inscribed it on his rough chart which he produced in corroboration of his story. He also produced for his audience a couple of nuggets of gold which he declared he had kept as a souvenir ever since.
But he shook his head sadly over them when he told how opportunity never came of returning to collect the gold awaiting him. His companion died on the way to Sydney, a victim of the jungle fever, the germs of which had contrived to impregnate him. And he--well, other things came his way and he did not fancy facing the hateful coast alone. Besides, he did very well with the laundry he started in Sydney until he got burnt out, and finally migrated to Alaska. No, he assured them, he would rather dispense ham and eggs at two dollars a time in Beacon Glory than go back for that gold. Besides, his little gambling parlour at the back of his restaurant was not so bad a gold mine.
Well, anyhow, there it was. It was true what he had told them. Every word of it. And if they liked they could have the chart as a present. And when they came back with all the gold they needed, if the jungle fever didn’t get hold of them and they felt like making him a present in return, well, he would very gladly receive it. But, whether they chose to go after it or not, he wanted them to know that the thing he had told them was no fairy story, but the real truth, which was a wholly inadequate illustration of the reality of wealth he had seen there.