"I'd rather dig gold than potatoes, wouldn't you, now?" demanded Terry. "We're liable to make a hundred dollars 'most any day. We haven't done much more than scratch."
"What do you want for supper?" asked Harry. "Let's celebrate with antelope steak and apple pie."
"Sure!" cheered Terry. "We don't have to save on grub."
They were sitting down, on the stool and the edge of the bunk, to a sumptuous supper, when a step and a grunting sounded outside, Shep growled, and into the half-open doorway was thrust an inquiring face. It was the red face of Pat Casey.
"Good evenin' to yez," he proffered, blinking.
"Come in, come in. Glad to see you. Sit and have a bite." And Harry changed from the stool to the bunk-edge beside Terry.
Pat, muddy like everybody else, clumped in, agrin.
"Sure, Oi've had my supper, but Oi'll set a bit," he answered. "Oi've been a-lookin' for yez. An' are yez at home already?"
"Yes, sir-ee," pronounced Harry, triumphantly. "Here we are."
"An' have yez located? 'Tis the sick boy's property, ain't it? Oi saw him goin' out this mornin'."