they calmed virgie, george stalked out and glumly brought in his brand new pick and spade, and during dinner harry and terry tried to explain.

"you see, we've got our mines ready, all right," concluded terry, "but we can't work 'em."

"why don't you make those fellows give you water, then?" demanded the spunky george. "let's all go over there tonight with our guns and open a ditch. if my gun would shoot i'd go alone."

"trouble is, their guns do shoot, i reckon," drawled harry. "and another trouble is, the water all around is petering out anyway. that stream below is scarcely a trickle. pretty soon we'll be carrying our drinking and cooking water from clear creek, and that's a mighty long tote."

"pat says there's talk of digging a big ditch and fetching water into the gulch from a river over yonder," informed terry. "but it will cost money, and anybody who uses the water will have to buy by the inch."

"why don't we wait for it?" proposed george. "you've got some money saved up, and you're making more, aren't you? your father didn't say anything about wanting his hundred dollars. he grub-staked you, on a chance."

"yes, and his chance is powerful slim," retorted harry. "he can do more with the hundred dollars than he can with a dry prospect. a hundred dollars is all we've been offered for it, and so his half interest amounts to only $50, and he'd lose out. we'll pay him what we borrowed and we'll do the waiting."

"did they sell the ranches?" asked terry.

"part trade, and the rest is to come out of the crops. guess they haven't got very much cash yet," answered george.

"that settles it," pronounced harry. "when you go down you can take our dust. i reckon there's near a hundred dollars."

"i'm not going down, for a while," declared george. "i'll throw in with you fellows. guess i can find something to do."

"what!"

"that's right," and george stubbornly wagged his head. "maybe i won't get rich, but i can stick. i can dig around here, can't i? and tote water and help with the cooking?"

"hurrah!" cheered terry. "he can have the true blue and dig there; but i shouldn't wonder if pat would hire him. we need another man."

"i can dig better than i can bake," admitted george. "i'll do something to earn my keep. i mean to stay and help out, virgie can go back in the morning with those people who brought us in. they're just looking about. where does the true blue lie? can i have it? have you dug much there?"

"no. it's a drier claim than this. the water was on our side, so we thought we'd clean up the golden prize first."

"how much land is the true blue?"

"one hundred feet long and fifty feet wide, same as the golden prize. we run one hundred feet from the cabin and into that little draw, and then the true blue begins."

george stood up and gazed. his new property did not seem to impress him very favorably; and indeed it was not especially inviting, being a bare rocky slope, pitted here and there with the shallow prospect holes of the preacher.

"shucks!" he criticized. "it's mostly dirt and stones. i haven't got even that trough."

"you mean 'sluice,'" grandly corrected terry. "'trough' is a tenderfoot word. all you can do is pan, anyway, with a bucket of water. but i've got to go back to pat."

"might as well ask him for a job for me, will you?" responded george. "i'll take it unless i strike things rich first, and can make more money panning."

terry trudged away. george helped harry with the dishes, then carried a bucketful of water to his claim and proceeded to "mine." this was working under difficulties, and virgie, who had followed close after, proudly lugging his spade, soon returned.

"i don't think that's much fun," she stated.

"well, it isn't," agreed harry. "and 'most of the folks who expected to get rich easy think the same way."

presently george gave up, out of humor. he was not only tired, but hot and grimy, too.

"there's not a blamed sign of gold in that whole claim," he crossly declared. "you fellows got cheated. you can have it back again. i'll dig for pat casey. will he pay me a dollar and a half a day?"

"he ought to pay you the same he pays terry. that's three dollars a day for you two, and four dollars a day for me, and some days i make five—one day i made seven, and on sundays i'm sure of six—! why, there's a gold mine in itself. we'll be flying high," encouraged harry.

george braced up. but—

"huh!" he grunted. "'tisn't a pound a day, though."

"terry's coming," piped virgie.

so he was—not only coming, but bringing his tools with him, and also a decidedly disgusted aspect.

"don't you work any more?" called george. "doesn't he want me?"

"naw!" growled terry, throwing down his pick and spade. "he's busted. and he doesn't want any more pies, either. here are the last two. he can't eat 'em—says he has indigestion."

"well, don't step on them," warned harry. "we can eat them. but how is he 'busted'?"

"it isn't his claim," answered terry. "that is, maybe he doesn't own it at all. some men he was arguing with this morning say it's theirs. so nobody'll work there till things are settled up. and pat's as mad as a hornet. they say all the dust in his oyster-can is theirs, too, because he got it out of that hole."

"whew!" mused harry. "the extra limited & co. seem to be more limited than ever. and that's hard luck for pat."

"what'll we all do, then?" queried george, aghast. "light out and go down to denver?"

"not by a jugful!" and harry swung the two pies. "we're here to stick. i reckon three able-bodied men and a dog and a nice yellow mule can earn a living somehow."

"i'll stay," asserted terry.

"so will i," asserted george.

"i'll stay. i'll help harry cook," proffered virgie.

harry picked her up and kissed her.

"no, you can't, virgie. you go to the folks and tell them we're well and hustling and never say die, and pretty soon we'll be millionaires. but you see you can't stay with us, because we're liable to be traveling 'round, looking for the gold, and we may have to sleep in the rain, and sometimes there won't be much to cook."

virgie wept. she was only a little girl, you know.

"but i want a mine," she said. "don't i get any mine?"

"of course you do," assured harry. "you can have the mine george was working on. it's named the true blue. george doesn't want it. and it's a real mine—see those holes?"

"sure. you can have it, for all of me."

virgie's tears dried instantly.

"all right. i'll dig in it." and off she hurried, with george's pan, in a moment to be occupied poking into the dirt with a stick.

"let's hold a council, boys," proposed harry. "pat was my best customer, for pies, and i don't think i'll bother any more with this cooking business. i reckon we'll have to make a tour of the diggin's and offer the services of three men and a mule. jenny'll need to help, if she expects to eat. there's not much free grazing left around these claims."

while they were discussing ways and means, virgie toiled in from her "mine," carrying the empty pan.

"i sha'n't dig any more," she announced. "i'm tired."

"what have you got in your hand, virgie?"

"a piece of my mine," and virgie extended her prize. "i'm going to take a piece of my mine down to show papa."

"that's a good idea," approved harry. "take him a sample, so as to prove to him."

"is it gold?" invited virgie.

"i shouldn't wonder," said harry, kindly. "it looks just like the pocket-piece i threw at ike. wait. i'll see."

but although he searched among the stones and bushes at the place where the pocket-piece might have bounded from ike's back, he did not come across it, and neither did terry nor george.

"it was the same kind of quartz, though," he insisted. "where did you find your piece, virgie?"

"over there," answered virgie, vaguely. "i don't remember. can't i have it? isn't it gold? that's a gold mine."

"maybe it is gold, from the true blue mine. you can tell your father you mined it," bantered harry.

"goody!" and virgie tightly clutched it. "and i can buy duke with it. they're going to make him fight a bear and i don't want him to fight a bear."

"what's that?" harry's voice rang sharply. "who said so?"

"sure," affirmed george. "we saw him, in a show. and there's a sign up telling folks to bring in a bear and have a match."

"great scotland! why didn't you mention it before?" harry was visibly disturbed.

"i did, to terry."

"yes, he did, but i'd forgotten," supported terry. "i was intending to speak about it, but these other things put me off the track."

"what'd you sell him for?" taxed george. "shouldn't think you'd have sold him. he's awful peaked, shut up there."

"well, we didn't sell him for that, anyway," declared harry. "good-bye. you fellows stay here. i'm going."

"where?"

"down there—to denver and auraria. we'll go and rescue duke, won't we, virgie?"

"you don't need to go, do you? the folks can rescue him. we'll tell virgie to ask them to," proposed terry. "they'll do it."

"no, sir!" rapped harry. "i got him into that mess and i'll get him out if it takes every cent we have. we can pay father richards by selling the mine, if necessary; but duke sha'n't fight any bear. that wasn't the bargain." and he bolted into the cabin.

terry gazed at george; george solemnly gazed at terry. it was a day of sudden changes in plans.

"shucks! duke oughtn't to be made to fight a bear, though," murmured terry.

"i should say not—i call that downright cruel," agreed george. "but the bear wasn't there yet. anyway, maybe the man won't sell."

"he'll have to, if harry once gets after him. and the folks will help now," reminded terry, hopefully.

"i'll help," chirped virgie. "i'll help with my mine."

harry bustled out. he had his blanket and a small package in some sacking.

"of course there's no use in the rest of you going," he said. "i've taken most of our 'pile,' terry, but i've left you a pinch of dust and the two pies, and there's flour and stuff yet. i'll leave you jenny, too. you and george and jenny can be getting me a job while you're getting for yourselves. i'll be back as soon as i save duke from being bear meat. if you can't find any paying jobs here, sell the blamed old claims, and we'll prospect in better diggin's. climb on your pony, virgie. tell 'em good-bye."

"you mustn't sell my mine," objected virgie, from the saddle of the indian pony. "i don't want it sold."

"well, they can sell the golden prize, if they have to," laughed harry. "so long, fellows. you'll see duke and me later."

away he strode at rapid limp—dear old harry!—with virgie on her ambling pony keeping pace beside him, into the gulch and on.

"guess we'll have to rustle," spoke terry, to george, as they watched him and virgie out of sight.