"Nary an inch, mister," responded one of the men. And away they went.
Again and again Mr. Adams tried, and he always got the same answer. Truly, this was a very selfish crowd, every man thinking only of himself and the goal ahead. They all acted as if the gold would be gone, did they not reach California at the very earliest possible minute. The fact is, Charley felt that way himself.
Back came Mr. Grigsby, hot and wet and disgusted.
"There's not a canoe to be had," he announced. "I can't get a boat for love or money. Either they're all in use, or the people claim they want to use them later. I expect we'll have to wait."
"Do you think our men will be back?"
"Yes, sir, as soon as they can. They seem honest. We can't walk, anyway."
"No, I should say not," responded Mr. Adams, surveying the jungle encompassing close. "We couldn't go a mile. The river's the only trail. Very well, we'll wait a while. I've waited before, and so have you."
"Many a time," and Mr. Grigsby composedly seated himself on the bank, his rifle between his knees.
"I'll see about some breakfast, then," volunteered Mr. Adams. And away he strode.
Charley had listened with dismay to the conversation. The last of the gold seekers' dug-outs had left in a hurry, and was disappearing up-stream. And here were he and his partners, stranded at the very beginning of their journey across to the Pacific! That had been a mean trick by the long-nosed man. Charley grew hot with anger.