"One hundred feet long and fifty feet wide, same as the Golden Prize. We run one hundred feet from the cabin and into that little draw, and then the True Blue begins."
George stood up and gazed. His new property did not seem to impress him very favorably; and indeed it was not especially inviting, being a bare rocky slope, pitted here and there with the shallow prospect holes of the preacher.
"Shucks!" he criticized. "It's mostly dirt and stones. I haven't got even that trough."
"You mean 'sluice,'" grandly corrected Terry. "'Trough' is a tenderfoot word. All you can do is pan, anyway, with a bucket of water. But I've got to go back to Pat."
"Might as well ask him for a job for me, will you?" responded George. "I'll take it unless I strike things rich first, and can make more money panning."
Terry trudged away. George helped Harry with the dishes, then carried a bucketful of water to his claim and proceeded to "mine." This was working under difficulties, and Virgie, who had followed close after, proudly lugging his spade, soon returned.
"I don't think that's much fun," she stated.
"Well, it isn't," agreed Harry. "And 'most of the folks who expected to get rich easy think the same way."
Presently George gave up, out of humor. He was not only tired, but hot and grimy, too.
"There's not a blamed sign of gold in that whole claim," he crossly declared. "You fellows got cheated. You can have it back again. I'll dig for Pat Casey. Will he pay me a dollar and a half a day?"