"He went down to Denver and Auraria, to buy our buffalo back. They're trying to match Duke against a bear."
"Pshaw! That so? I'm going down to Denver myself, to look about in time before snow flies. I understand it begins to snow up here in September, and everybody'll be driven out."
"What'll you do with your mine? You've got one, haven't you?" asked George.
"Sure pop, young man. And it's recorded, too, on the district books; and if anybody jumps it while I'm gone there'll be a heap of trouble for him. It's in black and white, described according to miners' law. Say—if you boys really want to work, you go on to Gregory Point, near the mouth of the gulch, and maybe you can get a day's work, or several days' work, on the new church they're putting up there for a preacher."
"Come on, George," bade Terry. And—"Much obliged," he called back. "Where's your wheel-barrow?"
"Played out at last. Don't need it, anyway. Can carry all I've got on my back."
"What's 'recorded'?" queried George, as they hurried off. "Are our claims recorded?"
"Don't think so," puffed Terry. "Nobody told us to record 'em. They're ours, and we've been sitting on them right alone. I'll ask Harry when he comes back."
"Or we can ask Pat Casey," proposed George.
They did not find Pat. His pit was idle and he was away—hunting witnesses to the sale by which he had bought the prospect. But they found the church, or rather the site of the church, on Gregory Point, as that was called, near the mouth of the gulch. Already a platform like a floor had been constructed; several men were busy hauling logs and leveling the ground with spades for another building; and the Yale preacher from the True Blue claim had his sleeves rolled up and was working with the rest. It was to be his church!