When Terry and Virgie arrived, George was returning, considerably swelled up with the triumph of his wooden-hammer gun, and Harry was laughing.
"There go four dollars' worth of dough and my pocket piece. Howdy, Virgie? Hello, George! Much obliged. Where are the other folks?"
"They're down at Cherry Creek. We came——"
"What was the matter? What'd he want?" interrupted Terry. "The big lummix!"
"I don't know. He was hanging 'round—I 'spied him poking about on that other claim yonder, and when I ordered him off with the shot-gun he said something about 'taking it out of my hide.' So he sneaked in on me when I wasn't looking. I don't think my hide would pan out much, but he might get good color out of Terry's and my clothes."
"Aw——!" blurted George, who now had read the sign. "'Gregory Gulch Bakery! Harry Revere & Co.'! What do you mean by that? I thought you had a gold mine!"
"So we have," chuckled Harry. "At two dollars a pie, and a dollar and a half a day loading Pat Casey's sluice."
George indignantly flung his hat on the ground.
"But I didn't come 'way out here to bake pies or work for a dollar and a half a day," he accused, as if they were to blame. "We-all thought you were rich, and I was going to dig on my own hook and get rich, too."
Virgie, who did not understand, but sensed a disappointment, began to wail.