"Yes; got the one you wrote from Denver--got it at Manhattan, just as we were starting. We came through in twenty-one days. Your dad and mine have a cracking good team apiece. And we got another you wrote to Denver from these diggin's. Found it waiting for us. Is this your mine? Where's Harry? Did you discover one for me? Where's the gold? We hear you've struck it rich! The folks sent us up to see. Do you want them, too?" "Who told you we'd struck it rich?" demanded Terry. "A sick boy down at Denver. He heard us asking for our mail, and asked if your father was any kin of yours. He says he knows your mine; it's the Golden Prize, and it's a bonanza; regular humdinger! So I was looking for it, and I saw the top of your hat, and I told Virgie: 'There's Terry Richards' hat, and I bet he's under it!' Is this the mine? Is that other man working for you? Where's Harry? Shall I get down in and dig, too? I'm not afraid of dirt." "Naw, this isn't the Golden Prize," confessed Terry, bluffly. "It's another mine--belongs to Pat Casey. I'm helping him. But I'll quit and take you over to the cabin. 'Tisn't far. Wait till I tell Pat." Pat likewise was out of the pit, and had visitors: two men talking at him hotly and gesturing with their fists, while Pat responded in kind. They all seemed to be having an angry argument. "Oh, Pat!" appealed Terry. "I'm going over to the cabin a minute, if you don't mind. I've got some friends to show about." "Sure, go on," bade Pat. "Stay the mornin', if ye like. There'll be no more dirt turned on this property till afternoon ag'in, annyhow--barrin' Oi don't start a graveyard in your absince." That was an odd remark, but Pat appeared to be so enraged at something or other newly come up that Terry did not delay to interfere farther. "All right; let's go," he said to George and Virgie. He led off; George stumped behind, weighted with blanket roll, wooden-hammer revolver, pan, and pick and spade; Virgie followed on her pony. Terry, in his mud and ragged clothes, felt like an old-timer, as he conducted these "tenderfeet" to the cabin home in the busy gulch. "Golly, there are a lot of people in here, aren't there?" panted George, impressed by the many curious sights. "Are they all making their pile?" "No, I should say not, yet. But they're all trying." "How much do you think you've got already? A thousand dollars?" "Uh-uh. We haven't weighed it; haven't any scales." "I want to see some gold," piped Virgie. "I'll show you some when we get to the cabin," promised Terry. "Is Harry at the cabin?" queried George. "Yes; we'll surprise him." "What's he doing? Is the cabin at your mine? Is he mining there while you're mining at that other place? Who's Pat Casey? Why don't you and Harry mine together?" "I guess he's cooking. Somebody has to cook," explained Terry. "And clean up."