Explore "The Red River Half-Breed" by Gustave Aimard on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
After gliding through the thorn brake, Joe lowered himself to the very ground. Fairly creeping, he seemed at a loss, clever as he had shown, himself. But, after thrice scrutinising the ground, he saw something dully gleaming. He crawled up to it. It was a piece of tinfoil, such as is used for enveloping chewing tobacco. It was roughly shaped into the form of a dart, the head pointing in the direction which he immediately took. It led him to another thorny bush, guarding an airhole about a yard square, almost impossible to discover even close by in broad day.
Joe knew that the guide had laid the indicator there, and with joy and confidence he dived into this kind of wild animals' burrow. It was a dry water course, a natural culvert, or drain, six feet wide in the best parts, and sometimes twelve high, ragged with worn rock, but also floored most smoothly with the finest yellow sand. Spite of his haste, he could not help carrying a pinch -- spread out artistically on his palm -- to his mouth; he tasted it for metallic traces, and grinned as he murmured, "Copper, I guess; silver, dead sure; and some gold. These rocks would pay blasting up some day."