"Oh, they were some distance out yet," smiled Mr. Richardson. "But they had spanking good teams and were pushing right through. They'll——"
"Ha, ha! Watch our old friend Horace! He acts like an expert," laughed Mr. Villard.
For Mr. Greeley, after having deliberately selected the packed dirt from several of the riffles at the middle of the sluice, was proceeding to wash his pan at the ditch.
"Why, His Honor might have been in the diggin's all his life!" praised Pat. "Sure, isn't he a Californy Forty-niner?"
Mr. Greeley was not so swift in his motions as a skilled prospector, but he evidently knew the correct method. He dipped, and tilted the pan, and twirled out the dirt and water; and peered, and dipped and twirled again.
Each time that he peered he seemed to be more interested, and his smooth, chubby face grew redder.
"Have you struck it rich, Mr. Greeley?"
"Upon my word!" And straightening, he returned with the pan held close under his nose. "Marvelous! If this is gold—and I judge that it is—these are very rich diggings indeed."
They all crowded forward to inspect the pan. The bottom of it was absolutely yellow!
"Hurrah for Mr. Greeley!" congratulated the other journalists, and hands patted him roundly on the back.