"That old pistol with a wooden hammer?" scoffed Terry. "You come on out and we'll give you a whole mine, maybe, if we have more than we can work!"
"I'll cook for you," piped Virgie.
"All right, Virgie," quoth Harry. "George can shoot buffalo with his pistol, and you can cook all he gets! You be ready tomorrow early, and we'll take you aboard on our way down."
"Do you start tomorrow?" blurted George.
"Sure thing," asserted Terry. "Stop at Manhattan, is all, to get supplies. Then we hit the trail for the land of gold."
The painting of "PIKE'S PEAK LIMITED" had indeed been the final touch. The start was set for the next morning immediately after breakfast. That evening in the cabin they all tried to be merry and hopeful, but Terry went to bed in the loft, where he and Harry slept, with a lump in his throat after his mother's goodnight hug and kiss; and although he dreamed exciting dreams of a marvelously quick trip and a row of mountains blotched with precious yellow, he awakened to the same curious lump.
But Harry hustled about briskly, before breakfast, to feed and water Jenny and Duke. Harry was always the first out.
"Gold, gold, gold, gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold,"
he declaimed. "Eh, Jenny? Or should I say:
"Jenny, Jenny! All pure gold!
Bright and yellow and hard to hold!"