CHAPTER XX MILLIONS IN SIGHT 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 are _you_ doing 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----