Pat likewise was out of the pit, and had visitors: two men talking at him hotly and gesturing with their fists, while Pat responded in kind. They all seemed to be having an angry argument.
"Oh, Pat!" appealed Terry. "I'm going over to the cabin a minute, if you don't mind. I've got some friends to show about."
"Sure, go on," bade Pat. "Stay the mornin', if ye like. There'll be no more dirt turned on this property till afternoon ag'in, annyhow—barrin' Oi don't start a graveyard in your absince."
That was an odd remark, but Pat appeared to be so enraged at something or other newly come up that Terry did not delay to interfere farther.
"All right; let's go," he said to George and Virgie.
He led off; George stumped behind, weighted with blanket roll, wooden-hammer revolver, pan, and pick and spade; Virgie followed on her pony. Terry, in his mud and ragged clothes, felt like an old-timer, as he conducted these "tenderfeet" to the cabin home in the busy gulch.
"Golly, there are a lot of people in here, aren't there?" panted George, impressed by the many curious sights. "Are they all making their pile?"
"No, I should say not, yet. But they're all trying."
"How much do you think you've got already? A thousand dollars?"
"Uh-uh. We haven't weighed it; haven't any scales."