Long Live the King! by Guy Boothby

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.