"But if we don't go now all the gold will be found."
"I think it would be sinful to leave this good ranch and go clear out there, with nothing certain," voiced his mother, anxiously. "You know it almost killed your father. He'd never have got home, if it hadn't been for you."
"That was when he was coming back, and we wouldn't need to come back," argued Terry. "And he fetched some gold, too, didn't he?"
"And hasn't recovered yet!" triumphed Mother Richards. "He couldn't possibly stand another long overland trip—and I don't want to stand it, either. Why, we're just nicely settled, all together again, on our own farm."
"Well, some of us ought to go," persisted Terry. "I'd a heap rather dig gold than plant it.'
"I notice you aren't extra fond of digging potatoes, though," slily remarked Harry. "You say it makes your back ache!"
"Digging gold's different," retorted Terry. "Besides, we've a gold mine already, haven't we? The one dad discovered. If we don't get there soon somebody else will dig everything out of it and we'll have only a hole."
"That will be a cellar for us, anyway, to put a house over," mused Harry, who always saw opportunities.
"I don't lay much store on that claim of mine," confessed Terry's father. "The country'll be over-run, and if the spot was worth anything it's probably jumped, or will be jumped very quickly. And I don't remember where it is."
"But what a rush!" faltered Mrs. Richards, glancing through the paper. "The news does say twenty-five thousand people about to cross the plains and more coming. I do declare! I'm sure some of them will suffer dreadfully."