There was very little time to be lost. When in the morning they had eaten breakfast and had packed Jenny (who did not seem to object to a change from doing nothing all day) with a buffalo robe and a blanket and the picks and spades and cooking stuff and some provisions, and had placed a note for Harry—"Gone to get rich. Will see you later"—and sallied down the gulch, Terry with his shot-gun on his shoulder and George with his wooden-hammer revolver at his belt, and each with a gold-pan slung on his back, the procession for the new diggin's already had started.
It looked quite like business, too—a long file composed of men riding horses or mules, and of men driving pack animals, and of other men afoot and carrying their packs, pressing south, out of the gulch, evidently following the lead of the Tarryall man.
"Once we locate our pound of gold a day, these other diggin's can go hang, can't they?" puffed George, as they hurried.
"I should say!" concurred Terry. "All we'll do will be to come back and get Harry and sell to that Pine Knot Ike crowd, and then we'll light out again. Glad we didn't say where we're bound for. When we sell we can pretend to Ike that we're plumb disgusted."
"Sure. Let's push up in front."
They were fast-footed and Jenny was long-legged, and they passed one after another of their rivals, until they were well toward the van. The wagon-man guide could be seen in the advance, guiding up a steep divide between the North Clear Creek and the South Clear Creek. The route appeared to be by an old Indian trail; and the divide itself grew into a mountain. Higher and higher led the trail—a tough climb that made the procession straggle.
It was a great relief when the trail conducted down again, on the other side, to South Clear Creek, and crossed, and turned up, through a beautiful country, to a couple of lonely lakes. But presently it began to climb over another mountain!
Terry limped, George limped, everyone afoot limped, no stop had been made for lunch. Everybody was afraid that somebody else would get to the pound-a-day first.
"Wonder how far we've come now?" panted George.
"You're a tenderfoot. You're petered out already!" accused Terry. "We aren't half there."
"I don't limp any worse than you do," retorted George.
"Keep a-going."
"Keep a-going."
On top of this mountain they all in the advance ran into a snowstorm, while the people lower down, behind, evidently were warm and comfortable. Then night fell—a real January night—and camp had to be made.
However, George was game. He proved to be a good campaigner, for a tenderfoot; and as an old-timer Terry of course needs must pretend that this kind of camping was nothing at all. So they pitched in together and cooked supper like the rest of the crowd, and went early to bed on top of the blanket and underneath the buffalo robe.
"Jenny won't thank us any for bringing her from summer right into winter, I reckon," murmured George, as he and Terry spooned against each other, to keep warm.
"No," replied Terry. "This 'pound of gold a day' song doesn't mean anything to her yet. But it'll be warm down in Tarryall, they say—just like back at the Gregory diggin's."
"We ought to get there tomorrow."
"Depends on how many more of these mountains there are," reasoned Terry. "Without that Tarryall man to guide us we'd all be lost, sure."
On and on and on, into the south and southwest, continued the march: down and up, across more creeks, across more mountains, into canyons and out again; and when night arrived, no South Park and Tarryall diggin's were yet in sight. Nothing was in sight but thick timber and wild rocky ridges extending to snow-line. Near or distant, before, behind, on either side, the landscape was the same.
"A few miles, boys, and we'll be there," promised the Tarryall man. "'Bout tomorrow noon, say. Then for your pound a day."
"Seems as though that pound of gold a day was always ten or forty miles ahead of a fellow," complained Terry. "First it was at Cherry Creek, then it was at Gregory Gulch, and now it's somewhere yonder. He said fifty miles, and I bet we've hoofed a hundred and still we haven't struck it yet. Guess Harry and I'll have to sell the Golden Prize so as to get us some boots. Look at mine!"
"We'll make moccasins or trade for some with the Injuns," consoled George. "When you're getting your pound a day you won't care."
The straggling procession was well worn out by two days of long, hard marching afoot and ahorse, and most of the animals were foot-sore. But tonight's camp was more cheerful, because the new diggin's lay close before, over the next divide. Yes, the Tarryall man had promised truly, for about eleven o'clock in the morning the head of the procession shouted and cheered and waved.
"South Park, boys—and Tarryall's in sight!"
"Hooray!" cheered everybody, as the news spread back from mouth to mouth and ear to ear.
"Gwan, Jenny!" bade George, clapping her on the gaunt flank; and driving her, he and Terry limped faster.
Because they were boys they had been well treated, on the way over, but now when new diggin's were so close at hand they might expect no favors. Every party must rustle for itself.
"Jenny! Gwan! Do you want to be left? Gwan! Hep with you!"
"Hep with you!" echoed Terry.
Jenny did her best; before and behind, the other outfits were doing their very best—crashing recklessly through the brush and timber and sliding and tumbling over the rocks. The head of the procession had disappeared over another little rise—perhaps was already in and at work locating the best pound-a-day claims!
"Jenny! Jenny! Yip! Gwan!" urged George and Terry. And with their rivals treading on their heels they, too, mounted the little rise, gained the top, and now in the clear could gaze anxiously beyond.
"I see it! I see the camp!" exclaimed Terry.
"So do I. But, whew! this is a big place, isn't it?" puffed George.
South Park was indeed large, and also beautiful; being an immense flat, miles wide and miles long, grassy and green and dotted with timber patches and bare round hills—yes, and with buffalo and deer, too!—and well watered by winding streams and the snows of high encircling mountains. The sight might well make one gasp, but another sight should be attended to first: that of the leading gold-seekers spurring their horses and mules diagonally across in a race for a glimmer of tents set amidst willows and pines against the west edge.
And pellmell, hobbling and shouting and straining, all the ragged company strung out after.
"If we won't be first, we won't be last, just the same," panted Terry.
The Tarryall diggin's resolved into three or four tents and several bough huts along a creek where it formed a broad gulch as it issued from the mountains. The gulch was being worked with rockers and pans, and claim stakes seemed to be planted clear through, from side to side. In fact, when, breathless, their eyes roving eagerly, Terry and George arrived, business-bent, it looked as though the whole ground had already been occupied by the discoverers!
"Tarryall! This isn't Tarryall—it ought to be named Grab-all!" was denouncing one of the leaders who had won the race from the last ridge. "What do you think, boys?" he addressed, as the other Gregory Gulch in-comers paused and jostled uncertainly. "There are twelve of these Tarryall fellows, and they've each of 'em staked off two thousand feet! That means twenty-four thousand feet of claims—nearly five miles! Is that fair? No! By miners' law a claim's one hundred feet."
"You're right. One hundred feet."
"Tear up those stakes."
"No thousand or two thousand foot business goes with us!"
"They've invited us in here. They've got to give us a show."
"Grab-all! Grab-all! That's the name for this camp: Grab-all!"
The murmur of responses was instant. The Gregory Gulch men surged angrily. The Tarryall men—twelve, now that the guide from Gregory Gulch had joined them—stood in a compact little group. They were a sturdy, rough-and-ready squad, well armed and able to take care of themselves. Their spokesman, a burly, shaggy-bearded individual, stepped out a pace, and tapped the butt of his revolver significantly.
"That's tall talk, gentlemen," he said, "but it's wasted on us. This is our camp. We've discovered this ground. We came in here first, where no white men ever prospected before and where the Injuns are liable to raise our hair any moment; we've drawn our own regulations, and I reckon we're going to hold what we've got. No white men, or Injuns either, can tell us what we're to do. If you want peace you can have it; if you want a fight, you can have it; for here we are, and anybody that tries to jump a claim that we've got marked out will be making his last jump—you can bank on that. There's plenty ground left; don't you touch ours."
For a minute things looked ugly, as the Gregory Gulch crowd growled indignantly, and the Tarryall squad waited, watchful and unafraid. Then the other man spoke.
"Let's have dinner, boys. After that we'll prospect 'round and hold a little meeting, and see whether this camp is to be Tarryall or Grab-all. Tarryall is what we were invited to join, but if these fellows think we're in here to buy them out because we can't find anything else to do, they're mighty mistaken. It's a smooth scheme, but it won't work."
"We can run 'em out, all right, if they don't play fair," boasted George, as he and Terry imitated the rest of the company and prepared dinner.
"I don't know. There'd be a lot of men killed," reasoned Terry. "They were in here first, and we promised to respect their rights as locators."
"We weren't told they'd staked out all the ground, though. They're allowed only a hundred feet at a time."
"That's the Gregory Gulch rule, but this isn't Gregory Gulch; it's a different district," argued Terry, who felt that he'd rather prospect than fight. "Maybe we all can find thousand-feet claims."
"Well, we can't find 'em in Tarryall," stormed George. "And Tarryall's the place we were brought to. I guess they expect us to buy. It's a put-up job."
The meeting was held immediately after dinner. Hot speeches were made, and several resolutions were passed: one changing the name from Tarryall to "Grab-all," and another declaring that all claims should be one hundred feet. However, nobody seemed quite up to enforcing this new rule on the claims already staked. Amidst threats and bluster and glowering looks the Tarryall squad warily resumed their daily work, and gradually the Gregory Gulch crowd spread out, searching here and there for color, but taking care not to trespass.
"No fight," decided George, as if disappointed. "It's going to be just a grab-all. Get your tools if you want your pound a day."
"That's what we came for," reminded Terry, as they shouldered pick and spade apiece. "We won't wait for any fight. Come on; leave the stuff here."
"Somebody'll steal your shot-gun."
"Don't think so. I can't carry that, too! But I can put it in one of those Tarryall tents."
"I'll wear my revolver. I don't leave that," pronounced George, wagging his head.
"Sure. You ought to travel well heeled, in these parts, sonny." One of the Tarryall men had strolled over. "If you don't, that Dutchman will take your scalp."
"What Dutchman?" demanded Terry.
"He's holed up in a gulch about a mile yonder. He's like the rest of us original discoverers—what he has he's bound to keep. We all give him a clear field, and I'd advise you to do the same. It's an unhealthy neighborhood hereabouts for claim jumpers. You're two plucky lads. Any more in your party?"
"No, sir. We're our own outfit," informed Terry. "But we've got another partner, and some prospects, back in the Gregory diggin's."
"Do you know where we can dig a pound a day here? That man who brought us in said you were digging a pound a day," challenged George.
"So we are—or will be as soon as we get our lumber in place for sluices. But you newcomers won't locate any pound a day ground in this gulch. We've seen to that and we don't propose to be bullied out of our rights as discoverers. We risked our lives to come in here; but of course we'd be glad of company. We own the ground and we own the water. You fellows find your ground and your water, and all together we'll stand off the Injuns. I thought I'd warn you about the Dutchman, though—you two boys, at any rate. I don't want to see you harmed. You were speaking about leaving your scatter-gun," he concluded, more gruffly, to Terry. "That's all right. I'll keep an eye on it for you. If you don't bother the Dutchman he won't bother you."
"He'd better not," asserted George. "I'm going to wearmygun. Who is he and what does he want around here?"
"Crazy, I told you. Thinks he has a strike, and maybe he has. But it's well to let a crazy man alone, and as long as he stays away from us we stay away from him. The park's big enough for that. Dutchman Diggin's, we've named his gulch. One of the boys happened in there, by accident, and was run out at the point of a shot-gun. All we see of the Dutchman is when he's hunting, and even then he's not far away from home, you bet. Now, that gulch is just beyond the second bunch of timber, south. See? And I'm warning you, friendly, because you're young."
"We'll watch out. Much obliged," promised Terry.
"Yes, but he'd better watch out, too," blustered George. "We're no tenderfeet. This gun of mine is a humdinger. He won't know it's got a wooden hammer, and it might shoot."
"Pshaw, now!" laughed the Tarryall man. "You certainly walk kind of tender-footed. But go ahead and find your pound a day."
"Guess we'll try south, just the same," said Terry, to George, as they struck off. "We can dodge the Dutchman, and there aren't many of the crowd down that way."
"Where'll we begin?" queried George, keeping pace.
"Whenever we come to a low place where there's water we'll pan for color. That's the only way," instructed Terry. "The gulches are the best places."
"Well, we'll have to locate our own diggin's pretty quick and hustle back for Harry, or we'll be all out of grub," declared George.
This search for color was fascinating work, especially when they had the field practically to themselves. There were so many likely places, one after another. Terry planned to pattern after John Gregory, and follow the color right to the source—that is, follow it when once they had found it. But to find it was the chief difficulty.
They panned faithfully clear up the first gulch, to its head—passing a few other "panners." Then they took the trail of a side draw and crossed over to another gulch and panned there. Once they thought that they had struck something, but it proved to be only a trace, and they lost even that. The country was getting wild and lonely.
"Don't suppose there are any Injuns watching, do you?" suddenly suggested George, as they were crossing a little pass that appeared to lead to still another draw or gulch.
"No." Pine and rock basked peacefully and innocent in the afternoon sunshine. "Nobody said anything about 'em. Shep would smell 'em. He hates Injuns. We'll try this next gulch and come out at the lower end, and then make tracks for camp. The sun's going to set."
They crossed over the ridge and descended.
"She looks like a good one, this time, doesn't she!" appraised George, while they strode and slid and leaped down the short slope, with Shep scouting on either hand.
"We're too high up for water, though," criticized Terry. "Can't pan without water."
The gulch was a small one, and dry. They followed along the bottom, where a stream course had worn the pebbles round and scored the soil into banks.
"I hear water," uttered Terry. "There's a stream ahead, all right."
The gulch was joined by another gulch entering at an angle—and by a stream, as well.
"Here's your good place to pan," exulted Terry. "See the gravel and the bars? Sort of an eddy. Regular pound-a-day place!"
"Yes; and somebody else has been digging, too!" growled George, disgusted. "Can't we ever discover anything?"
"They aren't digging now. Those are only gopherings. We'll get deeper. That's where the big strikes lie—down deep on bed-rock," encouraged Terry.
"Dig deep, boy," bade George.
"Dig deep, for a pound a day."
And they set to work. George's spade clinked on rock, and at blade length he carefully dumped dirt and gravel into his pan.
"Golly, I believe I see gold!" he breathed. Terry paused to await results. George panned feverishly—grew more and more excited. "Hurrah! Look-ee here! We've struck it!" His pan, not yet fully cleared, was sparkling and yellow all over the bottom! "We've struck it!"
"We've struck it!" cheered Terry, forgetful of his own pan awaiting.
They danced. Shep barked and gamboled. And a heavy voice broke in with—
"Ja! You struck it. Maybe not! Maybe you get struck mit a club! Hold your hands up an' keep quiet until I see what kind of robbers you are dot come into my gulch."
George dropped his jaw and almost dropped the pan. He and Terry stopped short in their dance, Shep growled, they all stared; stared into the muzzles of a double-barrel shot-gun projecting over the top of a big boulder not fifteen steps at one side, and also into the eyes of a man squatting concealed and squinting over the sight. He was bare-headed and tow-headed.
He slowly arose, with shot-gun leveled, and proved to be a pudgy fat man in dirty checkered shirt and faded blue overalls with bib and straps; regular barnyard overalls.
"Gee, the crazy Dutchman!" gasped George.
"Dot is one lie," corrected the man, steadily. "Joost like American boys, who haf no respect. You come into my gulch to steal mein gold und you call me 'crazy' und a 'Dootchmann,' und for dot I haf a mind to blow off your heads off. Ja!" In his anger he spoke with a stronger German accent than ever. "Vat you want, anyhow? Where you from?"
"Oh—I know you!" exclaimed Terry, gladly. "Sure I do. And you know me. You're the Lightning Express. Remember, you sold us your sacks. I thought you'd gone home. What areyoudoing in here?"
Now the German gaped and stared. He slowly lowered his gun, and grinned widely.
"Ja, ja. Sure! You are one of dose Pike's Peak Limited boys. Ja, ja! You wass driving a mule an' a boof'lo. Ja, ja! Well, well! An' where is dot partner—dot nice young man? And who is dis odder boy? An' what you doing in my gulch—say!"
"We didn't know it was your gulch. This boy is George Stanton. He's my partner, too. My other partner's down at Denver. We've been over in the Gregory diggin's."
"An' are you prospecting alone? Dere is more of you?" demanded the German, suspiciously.
"No, we're alone," assured Terry.
"Well, well. Is dot so? Den you needn't be afraid. I would not harm goot boys. Nein, nein." Now apparently in fine humor, he waddled forward to shake hands.
"We're not afraid," replied Terry.
"I should say not," alleged George. "Your gun wasn't cocked, and we could have ducked. You'd have had to fight the two of us at once, besides the dog. That's a powerful dog. He's licked an Injun."
"Is dot so?" repeated the German, eying Shep. "I stick my one foot in his mouth an' kick him mit de odder. But no, no. Fighting is not goot. I only fight to protect my gulch. Come on down; come on down to where I lif, an' we haf supper."
"This is your dust, isn't it?" queried George, proffering the pan. "It's out of that dirt. Do you own all the gulch?"
"Ja; my gulch. But nefer mind. You keep what you find. I haf plenty, plenty. Come on down now an' I show you somet'ings. You odder boy wash your pan. Den we all go."
Terry delayed not in washing his panful while he had the permission. It yielded fully as much yellow as had George's! Whew! They had struck rich pay-dirt, at last, and—shucks! It belonged to somebody else. However——
"Keep it, keep it," bade the German, with grand gesture. "It is not worth my bodder. I haf plenty. I gif you so much, but I do not want you to steal it."
So they carefully scraped the treasure into George's new buckskin sack already open. "We'll divvy," proposed George, "but let me carry it, will you?"—and accompanied the German down the main gulch.
"Ja," he explained, to Terry, "I did start myself back an' I sell you an' dot odder partner my sacks an' my tools an' my sauerkraut. An' den, when dose stages begin to pass me, an' peoples begin to come, I t'ink maybe I was one fool again, so I turn 'round."
"How did you get in here, though?" asked Terry. "Are you the first? Did anybody else come with you?"
"Ja, I am the first. No, nobody else come—joost me an' my family an' my wagon an' my oxen. People said 'the mountains, the mountains, the gold is not at Cherry Creek, it is in the mountains'; so we go into de mountains, an' we climb up an' we climb down, an' when we get to where dere is plenty gold, we stop. Dose fellers in dot odder gulch dey come later, but I pay no attention to dem, except when one is in my gulch an' den I drive him out."
How the Lightning Express ever had managed to achieve all that "climbing up" and "climbing down" until it finally arrived here in this remote spot, Terry could not figure out—and the German seemed not to know, himself. He certainly had earned his luck. He had spoken truly, too, for now the gulch widened, and there, before, was his headquarters—a homelike camp, with the two oxen grazing, and the wagon whose torn top still displayed the legend "Litening Express," and a bough-roofed dug-out, and a clothes-line with washing waving from it, and his family hovering around the cook stove set under a tree.
"I find my cook stove an' pick him up," he announced. "Ja, we haf lots to eat, but no sauerkraut. Only deers an' boof'lo an' chickens an' fishes."
The menu sounded very alluring, the Mrs. German and all the six girls, even the youngest, smiled welcome, and the two guests were disposed to stay for the promised supper. But first their host, who seemed extraordinarily good-natured and hospitable, mysteriously beckoned them aside; led them to the wagon.
"Now I show you somet'ings," he said. "Let's get in mit us." He laboriously clambered in under the hood. They followed.
Evidently the wagon was being used as a sleeping place, for the feather tick and blankets were spread, and two red-flannel night-caps hung against the frame-work. The German turned back the blankets and tick part way and exposed several fat gunny sacks wedged in amidst other stuff, all of which formed a floor.
"Dere!" he grunted. "Isn't it? Ja! I told you once I fill my sacks. Now I do so."
"What's in 'em?" blurted George.
"Gold. My gold."
George's eyes bulged; Terry heard him pant, and he caught his breath himself.
"In every sack?"
"Ja." One of the sacks had a rent in the upper side. The German inserted his fingers and thumb and extracting some of the contents, displayed the sample in his pudgy, calloused palm. The sample was black sand, all yellowed and asparkle with glittering grains.
"I wash him cleaner when I get time," announced the German. "First I fill all my sacks up tight. Den maybe it winter an' I must go away. My wife an' I an' two leetle girls sleep in here on top; dose odder girls sleep under; nobody get my gold. I fill my sacks in my wagon, an' some day I hitch up my oxen an' drive off alretty." He smoothed down the bed again, over the treasure. "I am a smart man. I save some sacks, dot time when I sell."
"But you've got millions!" exclaimed Terry. "I should think you'd go out instead of staying. You can't use that gold here."
"It is notting," asserted the German. "My gulch is so much gold I cannot dig him fast enough. If I go away somebody come in an' steal." He blinked at Terry with his fat eyes. "Maybe I sell, to goot boys who would stay an' watch while I go an' come back. Den we could all work togedder."
"Sell all the gulch?"
"No, no. Maybe I sell one piece. I sell dot piece where you wash out dose pans. I haf plenty more an' I do not like to walk so far. I sell him cheap—it is notting to me, but I will not be stolen from. I sell him to goot boys for $100."
"One hundred dollars!" gasped Terry and George. They could scarcely believe their ears.
"Ja. So cheap. I will not gif him away. It is better for boys to pay a leetle somet'ings, an' when dey haf bought, den dey haf rights. One hoondred dollar—you bring in dot odder partner an' dig all you want to an' you watch my gulch, an' when I come back we all dig togedder an' get rich."
"But how much land will be ours to dig in?"
"I do not care," and the German airily waved his hand. "Dere will be t'ree of you? I sell you the right to six hoondred feet. Dot is two hoondred feet apiece. Ja. An' you watch an' don't you let anybody steal."
Terry looked at George. George was fairly purple with excitement.
"Guess we'd better take it."
"Guess we had," agreed George, gruffly.
"That's a bargain, then."
"We haven't got a hundred dollars here, though," stammered Terry, to the German. "We'll go back to Gregory Gulch right away and get it, and get our partner, and we'll hustle in here."
"Dot's all right," agreed the German. "Dot's all right. You are goot boys. I wait. I haf one sack not yet full alretty."
"We won't stay for supper," proclaimed Terry. "We'll hustle. It's nearly dark, anyway. Come on, George!"
He piled out. George piled out. The German rather tumbled out. They grabbed their tools. "Goot-bye, goot-bye," answered the German, and in a moment they were hurrying down the gulch.
"We'll sell the Gregory claims," panted Terry. "Sell to Ike. That's where we'll get the hundred dollars."
"Sure," panted George. "Talk about your pound a day! We'll make more than that in here."
"I should say! Reckon we washed out ten dollars in just those two pans."
"And there'll be millions!"
"That German has a million now!"
"Wait till we tell Harry about the sacks."
"Not a word of this to those Tarryall and Grab-all folks. Keep mum!"
"You bet. Don't want any stampede. We'll pretend we're going out disgusted."
"Wonder if the German expects us to stay in all winter?"
"We don't care. We can build a cabin and kill buffalo and deer."
"And pile up the sand and wash cleaner after the snow comes."
"Shall we start tonight? Ought to be making tracks."
"N-no," said Terry. "It'll be dark before we can pack up. Shucks!"
For the sun had set early behind the high peaks and already the dusk was creeping into the hollows.
"We'll start first thing in the morning, then," declared George. "Hurrah! We've struck it, haven't we?"
"That's so." The fact was so stupendous that Terry felt almost frightened over the great good fortune.
"Two days there and two days back again."
"He said he'd wait. He's got a sack to fill."
"Hope we don't talk in our sleep," babbled George.
"If we don't, nobody'll guess we're rich. We mustn't go grinning 'round, just the same," babbled Terry.
"No. We'll act mad, like the rest."
And so, this evening, they were careful to appear very solemn. But of course the night was a difficult one for sleep, when a fellow's brain thronged with golden secrets.
And as early as they two were in their morning start for Gregory Gulch, others were as early. This camp of Grab-all was largely a disgruntled camp. There was no lumber on hand for sluices, the conveniently worked ground had already been taken up by the Tarryall men, most of the newcomers were short on provisions, nobody knew but that winter would set in before many weeks; and so everybody from Gregory was planning to leave as soon as he had located a claim.
In fact, when Jenny finally was packed, and in the pink dawn unwillingly stepped forth at the bidding of "Gwan! Hep, now!" from Terry and a slap on the flank from George, half a dozen outfits were heading up the trail.
Urged to make the most of her long legs, Jenny pressed after.
"You boys are in more of a hurry to get out than you were to get in, seems to me," challenged one party whom they passed. "Must have heard of a new strike, eh?"
"Yes, sir-ee!" affirmed Terry, daringly. He had to say that much, or he'd burst, but of course the man did not believe him.
They made the trip in best time, and arrived at Gregory Gulch soon after sun-up of the third morning.
Even in the short time that they had been absent the Gulch had improved—for now on Gregory Point stood the preacher's church. However, they might not stop to congratulate him and to explain why they had not helped. All this fuss and furor in Gregory diggin's seemed small business to anybody who knew just where not merely one pound a day but several pounds a day were to be made easy.
"If Harry hasn't come we'll sell to the Ike crowd, anyway," declared Terry.
"He told us to—he said we might, if we needed it. Then one of us can rustle back to that other gulch and the other can stay for Harry," planned George.
"Somebody's there, all right. The chimney's smoking."
"Must be Harry getting breakfast."
"Jiminy Christmas, though!" cried Terry, as now they neared the cabin. "What's going on? Looks as if he'd brought in my dad and your dad, and they're working the claims!"
Sure enough: the sluice had been moved and slanted in another direction, water was pouring from the lower end again, and two figures were busy beside it, with spade and pick.
"Well, they won't want to work it long, when they know what we know," vaunted George.
The two figures were engaged across from the cabin, shoveling and pecking, stooped over, and apparently did not notice the Jenny outfit. So the home-comers aimed straight for the cabin, and were just about to whoop to surprise Harry, when Harry stepped out. But no, not Harry!
It was Pine Knot Ike! He emptied a dish-pan of water, and surveyed Terry, George, Jenny and Shep. They stopped short and surveyed him.
"Say! What are you doing in that cabin?" accused Terry, so much astounded that his voice cracked on him.
"Those aren't our dads, either, over there," whispered George.
"I air livin' hyar, I reckon, but 'tain't your cabin," replied Ike, calmly, and chewing his tobacco.
"I'd like to know why it isn't our cabin, and our land, too!" retorted Terry.
"'Cause you moved off an' we moved on. When one party doesn't develop a prospect, an' doesn't record it, an' quits, an' another party takes it up an' perceeds to develop, I reckon fust party loses out," drawled Ike.
"But it is recorded. We recorded it before we left. And the only reason we didn't develop it was because you took our water," furiously answered Terry. "And we didn't move off. We went away for a day or two, that is all."
"That's right," blustered George. "I heard him tell the recorder. And you'd better move off, yourselves, or we'll have you put off!"
Pine Knot Ike squirted a prodigious stream of filthy tobacco juice.
"Waal, now, the books don't show," he asserted. "We're hyar, with our improvements, workin' a claim that looked to be abandoned, an' I reckon that'll count. We take our water off an' what's your prospect wuth to you, anyhow?"
"He's a big bully," whispered George.
"We want to sell, though," reminded Terry. Ike seemed to be giving them the opportunity. So—"It's worth more than nothing, just the same," he replied. "That's our cabin and our sluice and our ground. You needn't think you can come over and jump things this way. We've got plenty of friends right in this gulch, and down at Denver, too."
"Reckon that sort o' talk doesn't amount to much. Possession air nine points o' the law, young feller," sneered Ike. "I air a man o' peace, but when anybody says 'fight,' I can riz on my hind legs as quick as ary b'ar."
"You won't amount to much, either," accused Terry, with sudden thought, "after I tell people how you got that Injun head and how you shot your own barrel full of holes, and how you skedaddled out of that tent in Auraria and how Harry made you dance at Manhattan last summer!"
Pine Knot Ike stared and glared and ruminated.
"Mebbe you know somethin' an' mebbe you don't," he admitted. "But I air a man o' peace an' so air my pardners. To save hard feelin's, an' argufyin', how'll you sell what you call your rights in this hyar property, dust paid down on the spot?"
"We'll sell for a hundred dollars," offered Terry.
"Whar's your pardner—that lame feller?"
"He'll be here; but he told me I could sell. Didn't he, George?"
"Yes, he did. I heard him. He said to sell if we wanted to," confirmed George.
"Whoop-ee!" summoned Ike, to the two men at the sluice. They dropped their tools and crossed over. One was the giant, before encountered. With an occasional side glance at George and Terry, they and Ike consulted together in low tones for a minute or so. Ike disappeared into the cabin, came out and, advancing a few steps, tossed a limp buckskin bag at Terry.
"Thar's your hundred dollars in dust," he said, "'cordin' to agreement. You stick your name an' your pardner's on a bill o' sale, an' that other boy'll be witness, an' no hard feelin's."
"How do we know this is $100?" challenged Terry, suspicious, and resolved upon being businesslike. One hundred dollars they had to have. But what luck!
"Take it to some scales and weigh it, and have it certified to, fust, then," rapped the giant. "You won't find us gone when you come back. We're hyar to stay."
That sounded like a fair proposition.
"We can get it weighed at a store," prompted Terry to George. "Come on."
"Quick work, boy!" praised George, as with Shep and with Jenny (who had been waiting to be unpacked) faithfully shambling after, they hastened for the nearest store. "One of us can skip out with it for Dutchman's Gulch and close our deal there, and the other can stay for Harry. Wish he'd turn up."
"There he is now! See? Good!"
"Where? He sure is! Riding horseback! And my dad and your dad and Virgie and Duke! He's got Duke!"
"Yes, and Sol! That other man's Sol Judy!" cried Terry, rejoicing. "They've all come in! Bully for them! We can all go to Dutchman's Gulch—work our claim and find others—just pile up the dust! Hi-oh! Hurrah!"
They shouted and waved, and cut down farther into the gulch to head off Harry's party, now filing up as if for the cabin.
"Hello!"
"Hello yourselves!"
"Hello, Dad! Hello, Sol!"
There was a great shaking of hands all around.
"Where you going? How's Duke? Hello, Duke!"
"Going to our mines, of course," answered Mr. Stanton.
"Where areyougoing?" demanded Harry. "What's Jenny packed for?"
"We're going out," informed George. "We've made the biggest strike you ever heard of—pounds a day—in another place, and we've bought tons of pay dirt for only $100, and we've sold the Golden Prize to the Ike crowd, and we're going to that other place just as quick as we can get there, and so are you, all of you, too!"
"Sold that other property? What for?" chorused the men.
"To pay for the new one. We hustled back on purpose. Just got in, and now all we have to do is weigh Ike's dust to make sure he isn't cheating us, and give him a bill of sale, and then we'll show you the other place. George and Harry and I have six hundred feet already, but there'll be more, and anyway we can all work," bubbled Terry.
"How do you know what's in those other diggin's?" queried Sol.
"Because we saw it! We washed out over ten dollars in two pans, and the German we bought from hassacks full!" proclaimed George. "Regular sacks full!"
"He's the Lightning Express German," added Terry. "Harry knows him. He's there all by himself. He wants us to watch his diggin's while he takes his gold out and comes back. That's why he sold so cheap."
"Great Cæsar!" murmured Harry. "Sacks full? Thought we'd bought all his sacks and he'd turned home?"
"So he had, but he changed his mind. And he's struck it rich, rich!"
"Where are those new diggin's? Have you got any of the dust with you that you say you washed out?" invited Sol.
"They're over near Tarryall or Grab-all, in the South Park; only about fifty miles," answered Terry.
"And here's our dust, too," proffered George.
Sol opened the little sack and fingered the contents.
"Gold!" he snorted. "Yes, fool's gold. That's nothing but iron pyrites—'tisn't worth a cent a ton! Don't you know the difference between gold and iron pyrites yet? Thought you were miners."
"But it's from the German's diggin's," stammered Terry—for George appeared staggered out of his wits. "He said it was gold and he's got sacks full, right in his wagon."
Sol laughed.
"Sacks full, eh? Did anybody ever see gold dust by the gunny sack full? He's the same crazy German who was washing fool's gold from the Platte, I reckon—thought he had the real stuff and wouldn't believe otherwise. I met him, myself, when he was traveling on in for fear somebody'd rob him."
"Oh!" groaned George. "We thought——"
"Have you closed the sale of that property yonder? Haven't given a transfer yet, have you?" sharply demanded Terry's father.
"N-no; we've got the money, though. We were going to weigh it. They're waiting—they're there, working."
"Who?"
"Ike and two other men. We found 'em there when we came back."
"By ginger! Jumped it, did they?" ejaculated Sol. "Looks like we were just in time." He spurred on, Harry after.
"You boys don't go a step farther," ordered Mr. Richards. "You come along with us. Lucky you didn't give any bill of sale, or we might have serious trouble."
"But Harry told us we might sell," faltered Terry.
"Harry didn't know, either. Why, there are thousands of dollars in those claims, according to Sol. The Ike crowd know, all right. Where you're to blame is for having gone off on a wild-goose chase and left the claims and then been bamboozled by such nonsense as sacks full of iron pyrites. Gold dust is soft and dull; pyrites are hard and bright."
"What makes you think the Golden Prize is so rich, though?" stammered Terry, as he and George tried to keep up with the horses.
"The Golden Prize is liable to be a fortune, but we're banking on that other claim, the one you gave to Virgie. She happened to show Sol the piece of rock she brought down, and he says it's the best kind of gold quartz—fairly oozing."
"And not float, either. It's from a surface lode close at hand," put in Mr. Stanton.
"Aw, shucks!" sheepishly said Terry to George. "Guess we weren't so smart as we thought we were. Now Pine Knot Ike's there and maybe we can't get him off."
"Well, he may assert you abandoned the claims, but Sol knows all the mining laws and we've got right on our side," consoled his father.
When they arrived at the spot, Sol and the Pine Knot Ike party were hotly arguing.
"According to miners' law of this gulch or any other district," was declaring Sol, "when a party can't work a lode claim by reason of lack of water or proper machinery, they've a right to let it lie a certain length of time; can go out, and come back to it again, in the meanwhile."
"Yes, mebbe so," returned the giant. "But they got to give their intentions to the recorder, an' there ain't any such intentions on file."
"There are, too—or there ought to be," contradicted Terry, freshly excited. "I told the recorder myself—didn't I, George? I told him what was the matter, and that we were going away, and I told him to record the claims, and he said he would till we got back."
"Oh, you did, did you!" rasped the giant. "That'll do for talk, but whar's the proof?"
"When did you see the recorder, Terry?" asked his father.
"The very night before we left. He said the books were locked up, but he'd remember."
"Sure he was the recorder?"
"Of course he was. He'd just been elected. He's the 'Root Hog or Die' professor. I know him and so does Harry."
"That's the man!" exclaimed Harry. "I'll go and get him." And away sped Harry.
"Furthermore and besides and notwithstanding, we've regularly bought this hyar property, and thar's the witness to the transaction," continued the giant, pointing to George. "We paid the price and it's been accepted, and when money has changed hands, that settles things."
Attracted by the dispute, other gulch people had begun to gather.
"That's right," pronounced two or three.
Terry felt his heart sink. Had he made a botch of the matter, with his hurry? George also was frightened, for he had paled.
"What property do you think you've bought, then?" demanded Sol.
"Everything: cabin and sluice and all. And you can't touch 'em."
"Where's the bill of sale?"
"We don't need any bill o' sale to put us in possession. We've paid the money, an' hyar we air," replied Pine Knot Ike. "An' we're bad when we're riled. Nothin' riles us like bein' robbed, an' thar's nobody as bad as a man o' peace when once he's riled, stranger."
"But you couldn't buy that True Blue prospect," rapped Sol.
"Why not? We took what was offered. The two claims go together. Nothin' was said different."
"Why not? Because the Golden Prize and the True Blue aren't owned by the same party; that's why. The True Blue's the property of this girl here—has been transferred to her in due legal form, and her father holds it in trust for her, and these boys couldn't have sold it if they'd wanted to!"
"Itismine," piped Virgie. "It's been given to me and it's written down and those mean men sha'n't touch it. They're getting it all wet!"
"Whar are your papers an' whar are your witnesses?" challenged the giant.
"There's one witness," and Mr. Stanton pointed at George. "You heard the words when the claim was given to Virgie, didn't you?" he asked.
"Yes, I did," affirmed George.
"And that other boy was one of the owners who agreed, and here comes the second former owner who signed the transfer for both."
"Down at Denver, before a notary public," panted Harry, arriving with the "Root Hog or Die" professor. "And it's been recorded."
"That is true," nodded the "Root Hog or Die" professor. "And I do acknowledge that I was asked to record this other claim also, and that I was told of the intentions and reasons when it was temporarily left unoccupied. I am responsible for there being no official memorandum, but I entirely forgot. However, the verbal agreement is sufficient. I remember perfectly."
"That remains to be seen," growled the giant—who seemed to be the spokesman for the Pine Knot Ike party. "As for that other prospect, we don't fight gals. It's a dry claim, anyhow; hasn't any water of its own an' never will have. As for this claim we're standin' on, we'll keep it. It's been duly bought, paid for, an' it's workable, an' that's enough. Ain't I right, boys?" he appealed to the gathering crowd. "When money's passed an' accepted, that binds the sale."