"Why not about the middle, Mr. Greeley?" proposed Journalist Richardson. "That would be fair."
"Let him alone, gintlemen," urged Pat. "Let His Honor do it all himself. Come out, Terry, lad. Ye'll be gettin' in His Honor's way."
That was not one bit true, because Mr. Greeley would not be anywhere near Terry. However, Terry trudged out, to please the anxious Pat; and now Mr. Villard hailed him.
"Why—hello, Pike's Peak Limited! I thought that was you. Where's your partner, and how are you making it in the mines?" He shook heartily with Terry, in spite of the mud on Terry's clothes—not to speak of considerable on Terry's hand.
"Harry's up at the cabin. We're doing pretty well, thank you," answered Terry.
"Well, I should rather say you were, if you wash out two and three dollar pans! I was hoping to see you. Mr. Richardson has a message for you. Richardson, this is one of the partners in that Pike's Peak Limited outfit you've inquired about."
"Oh, yes." And Mr. Richardson, the Boston journalist, also shook hands with Terry. "Glad to meet you. Mr. Greeley and I passed some people on our way out by stage. That is, they spent the night near us, at one of the stage stations. They asked us, if we saw the Pike's Peak Limited boys at the diggin's anywhere, to say they were coming. There were two families traveling together. One was Mr. and Mrs. Richards——"
"They're my father and mother!" exclaimed Terry.
"And the other was Mr. and Mrs. Stanton, and a boy and a little girl."
"I know 'em!" cried Terry, excited. "The boy's name is George and the girl's name is Virgie. The Stantons are near neighbors of my folks, in the Big Blue Valley. Are they near? When'll they get here?"