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The black sand is dried, and a small quantity of it is placed in a "blower," a shallow tin dish open at one end. The miner then holding the pan with the open end from him, blows out the sand, leaving the particles of gold. He must blow gently, just strong enough to blow out the sand, and no stronger.
"There are things said that cannot be passed over." "I never asked you to," said I. "I am as ready as yourself." "Ready?" said he. "Ready," I repeated. "I am no blower and boaster like some that I could name. Come on!" And drawing my sword, I fell on guard as Alan himself had taught me. "David!" he cried. "Are ye daft? I cannae draw upon ye, David. It's fair murder."
And one after another, as the blower gave the boys air and helped sweep away the clouds of dust, the remains which had lain buried for over three centuries were uncovered and brought above ground. Of the pottery itself, vases, jars, and religious ceremonial utensils, perfect in shape and displaying ornamentation that would have delighted Major Honeywell, the excavators could take little note.
"A square man he was," he said. "And a great pity the way he dropped off and had his mine lost by a landslide." The meal over, the three boys lost no time in walking over to the other side of the city, where Abe Blower lived. They found the front windows of the house open and an elderly woman was sweeping off the front stoop with a broom. "Good-morning," said Roger, politely. "Is this Mrs.
"We overheard what you said about the Abe Blower party and the Tom Dillon party," pursued Merwell. "We were with Abe Blower, but the other crowd came up and made it hot for us, and we got out. You said something about their being here to locate gold. So they are, and now that we are on the outs with those other people, if you say the word, we'll go in with you.
"You wanted to leave us to starve here, or compel us to go back to town so you could hunt for that lost mine alone. I see through the trick. We ought to shoot you down like dogs!" "It's jest wot they deserve, consarn 'em," muttered Abe Blower. "We don't want anybody shot!" said Dave, to his chums. He saw that the two old miners were angry enough to do almost anything.
A woman named Madlen, who lived in Penlan the crumbling mud walls of which are in a nook of the narrow lane that rises from the valley of Bern was concerned about the future state of her son Joseph. Men who judged themselves worthy to counsel her gave her such counsels as these: "Blower bellows for the smith," "Cobblar clox," "Booboo for crows."
"He was around, Tom, yesterday," was Dick Logan's answer. "But he left here about the middle of the afternoon." The boys had expected some such answer as this, so they were not greatly surprised. They were introduced to the storekeeper by Tom Dillon, who then asked if Abe Blower had been alone. "No, he had two others with him strangers to me," answered Dick Logan.
The sun was now well in the west, and it was not near so hot as it had been in the middle of the day. "I wish we could catch up to the Blower party by to-night," said Roger, earnestly. "Mr. Dillon, do you think we can do it?" "We can try, lad. But you must remember, we'll have to favor the hosses a leetle. They have had a mighty hard run on't." "I know.
Louis picked up the little red scandal-breeding thing, and while walking on with it in his hand he observed Tabitha Lark approaching the church, in company with the young blower whom she had gone in search of to inspire her organ-practising within.
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