"I don't know," said Tom, artfully. "I told you of it because I thought you would like to hear. You are always complaining that we never have any adventure, and that you might as well be promenading Broadway for all the sport there is to be found."
Yates whistled an opera air, from beginning to end, in the most elaborate manner. At the close he said:
"When will he be at the diggings?"
"Day after to-morrow, at the latest."
"This is Monday, isn't it?"
"Of course it is."
"I wasn't certain. One fairly loses the day of the week in this confounded desert. Monday be it. On Wednesday he will reach the diggings."
"Yes; he means to stay there a couple of days."
"On Saturday, then, he will pass through the valley."