The party halted at Pat's pit and gazed in, and Pat and Terry, pausing in their show of work, looked up. Besides John Gregory, there were in the party Green Russell and Mr. Williams, the stage company superintendent, and Editor William Byers of the _Rocky Mountain News_, and--yes, Mr. Villard, the Cincinnati reporter. Terry did not know whether Mr. Villard would remember him, or recognize him, anyway, in those clothes, which were much worse than when worn in Denver. "This is one of our promising gulch claims," was saying John Gregory. And--"Good morning to you, Pat," he addressed. "How are things looking with you today?" "Foine, thank ye, John," assured Pat. "Come out a minute, Pat. Mr. Greeley, I want to make you acquainted with Mr. Casey, a leading citizen of the Gulch. And Mr. Richardson--Mr. Casey. And Mr. Villard--Mr. Casey." Pat, who had clambered out, removed his hat and rather bashfully shook hands. So that was Horace Greeley, was it; the editor of the New York _Tribune_! He didn't look like an editor of a big paper such as the _Tribune_. Rather, with his square hat and his rosy face surrounded with a fringe of short white whiskers, and his roly-poly figure, as he sat his mule, his legs sticking straight out, he looked more like a church deacon or a prosperous "back East" farmer. Mr. Richardson, who probably was that reporter for the Boston _Journal_, as spoken of by Mr. Villard in Denver, was a tall, wiry man with soft hat and full brown beard, and wore a Colt's revolver. "These gentlemen are out from the East, Pat," continued John Gregory, "to see if it's true that we're all starving hereabouts and that the gold is in our eye. Mebbe you've no objection to their doing a little investigating on their own account down in your hole there." "Faith, Oi'd be proud if their Honors would touch their fingers to me dirt," asserted Pat. "Would they loike to get down in, or shall Oi pass a bit up to 'em?" Mr. Greeley and Mr. Richardson and Mr. Villard dismounted and peeked in. "About how much are you washing out a day, Pat?" invited Green Russell. "Oh, a hundred dollars a day, more or less, dependin' on the clane-ups," answered Pat. "Upon my word!" exclaimed Mr. Greeley, adjusting a pair of spectacles, the closer to peer. "I was scarcely prepared to find that a fact." "You're ready to make a clean-up, I see," spoke Mr. Byers. "Suppose you show Mr. Greeley and these other gentlemen. How long will it take?" "A matter o' two hours," replied Pat. "But would His Honor loike to try a pan, first? Sure, a pan or two from the pit, an' a couple from the riffles--that's a fair tist." "Yes, I believe I should like to see the evidences of a pan," declared Mr. Greeley. "There's no need of His Honor gettin' down in," averred Pat. "It's no place for the feet of a gintleman. Terry, me lad, pan a spadeful, will ye, an' show Mr. Grayley the color so the New York _Tribyune_'ll tell the world all about it?"