Pan by pan, he went up the stream, the tally of results steadily decreasing.
The centre of each line produced the richest pans, while the ends came where no colors showed in the pan.
Each pan he carried down to the water to wash, and as he went higher up the hill the pans grew richer, until he began to save the gold in an empty baking-powder can which he carried carelessly in his hip-pocket.
When he filled a pan with dirt, he ran down the hill to wash it; nor could he forbear running up the hill again, panting and stumbling profanely, to refill the pan.
He filled a pan and carried it down the hill to wash.
It was only at thirty inches beneath the surface that he could get colors in his pan.
Twenty cents, thirty cents, fifty cents, sixty cents, were the values of the gold found in the pans, and at nightfall he washed his banner pan, which gave him a dollar's worth of gold-dust from a shovelful of dirt.
His first pan of the morning washed out over two dollars in coarse gold.
Nightfall found him by the edge of the stream his eyes wrestling with the gathering darkness over the washing of a five-dollar pan.
He dropped it into his pan and examined another piece.
Still squatting on his heels, he continued examining the fragments and tossing them into the pan.
He continued rubbing the dirt from the quartz fragments and throwing the gold into the pan.
And I seen all them millions this afternoon when them seven hundred dollars peeped up at me from the bottom of the pan
and chirruped, 'Well, if here ain't Burning Daylight come at last.
When she was about to turn them on the other side, the wall opened, the damsel appeared, addressed the same words to the fish, received the same answer, and then overturned the pan and disappeared.
The black slave overturned the pan in the middle of the room, and the fish were turned to cinders.