"If it'll take us a year, you might as well wait and come on with your own folks later," reminded Harry. "You'll probably travel in style, and pass us." "That's right," hopefully answered George. "We'll pass you during the summer. You see if we don't." "Said the hare to the tortoise," gibed Harry. "Terry and Jenny and Duke and I may be slow, but we're powerful sure--if our wheels keep turning." He picked up a tar-pot and a stick, and stepped to the cart, on which the hood at last had been stretched. "What you going to do now?" "Don't hurry me," drawled Harry. "This isn't a hurry outfit." On the canvas he drew a letter. "What's that, Virgie?" "'P'!" "Right. And what's this?" "'I'!" "You're a smart girl--a smarter girl than your brother," praised Harry. "Next?" "'K'!" "Next?" "'E'!" "Next?" "A--comma!" declared Virgie. "Oh, pshaw!" deplored Harry. "You go to the foot." And he finished the word: "PIKE'S." He stepped back to admire the result. "Pike's Peak or Bust! That's what you ought to put on," yelped George. "Pike's Peak or Bust! There was a wagon went down the valley yesterday with that on it. And it had four wheels instead of two." "'Pike's Peak and No Bust,' is our motto," corrected Harry. He daubed rapidly, until the words stood: "PIKE'S PEAK LIMITED." "I guess you're 'limited,'" sniggered George. "Anyway," he confessed, loyally, "wish I was going with you. I'll trade you my pistol for a share in your mine if you find one." "That old pistol with a wooden hammer?" scoffed Terry. "You come on out and we'll give you a whole mine, maybe, if we have more than we can work!" "I'll cook for you," piped Virgie. "All right, Virgie," quoth Harry. "George can shoot buffalo with his pistol, and you can cook all he gets! You be ready tomorrow early, and we'll take you aboard on our way down." "Do you start tomorrow?" blurted George. "Sure thing," asserted Terry. "Stop at Manhattan, is all, to get supplies. Then we hit the trail for the land of gold." The painting of "PIKE'S PEAK LIMITED" had indeed been the final touch. The start was set for the next morning immediately after breakfast. That evening in the cabin they all tried to be merry and hopeful, but Terry went to bed in the loft, where he and Harry slept, with a lump in his throat after his mother's goodnight hug and kiss; and although he dreamed exciting dreams of a marvelously quick trip and a row of mountains blotched with precious yellow, he awakened to the same curious lump. But Harry hustled about briskly, before breakfast, to feed and water Jenny and Duke. Harry was always the first out. "Gold, gold, gold, gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold," he declaimed. "Eh, Jenny? Or should I say: "Jenny, Jenny! All pure gold! Bright and yellow and hard to hold!"