"He'll have to, if Harry once gets after him. And the folks will help now," reminded Terry, hopefully.
"I'll help," chirped Virgie. "I'll help with my mine."
Harry bustled out. He had his blanket and a small package in some sacking.
"Of course there's no use in the rest of you going," he said. "I've taken most of our 'pile,' Terry, but I've left you a pinch of dust and the two pies, and there's flour and stuff yet. I'll leave you Jenny, too. You and George and Jenny can be getting me a job while you're getting for yourselves. I'll be back as soon as I save Duke from being bear meat. If you can't find any paying jobs here, sell the blamed old claims, and we'll prospect in better diggin's. Climb on your pony, Virgie. Tell 'em good-bye."
"You mustn't sell my mine," objected Virgie, from the saddle of the Indian pony. "I don't want it sold."
"Well, they can sell the Golden Prize, if they have to," laughed Harry. "So long, fellows. You'll see Duke and me later."
Away he strode at rapid limp—dear old Harry!—with Virgie on her ambling pony keeping pace beside him, into the gulch and on.
"Guess we'll have to rustle," spoke Terry, to George, as they watched him and Virgie out of sight.