They told him.
"Well, Oi'll see yez ag'in, boys," promised Pat, grasping his spade to refill his pan. "Who knows but in a few days we'll all be rich together?"
"All right, Pat," laughed Harry. So they left Pat engaged with his spade, hoping to strike it with the next pan full.
They toiled along, eyes alert for a camping spot. A tent bore the sign: "Groceries for Sail." Another was announced as "Miners' Hotel"—although where it slept its guests was a problem. Another tent, through the flaps of which might be glimpsed a woman, stated: "Back East Biscuits."
Dinner of course was a hurried affair. Other gold-seekers were still descending the hill and spreading out wherever they could. So no time was to be lost. They each slung on a gold-pan by means of a thong tied through a hole in the rim; and with pick and spade (Shep staying to mount guard) they sallied forth.
"I reckon," mused Harry, "we'll have to do like the rest do: scout about and whenever we see a goldish-looking spot, try it out."
"Dad showed us how to work a gold pan. I don't suppose we've forgotten," panted Terry, as they hustled.
"Yes, but he didn't show us how to find the gold," reminded Harry. "We ought to locate near water."
For an hour they trudged up and down, and never sunk a spade or tried a pan. All the creek and all the side streams seemed occupied. Once they halted and were just about to dig, when a voice bawled: "Get off my ground!"
"Excuse me," apologized Harry. The owner of the voice was some distance away. "Is this your claim?"