"It's time for a council of war, I reckon," sighed Tom. "At any rate it's no use to work here any longer this morning. Let's go above."
As it was yet too early for dinner, the men congregated in one of the shacks, while the partners went to their own rough one-room abode.
"What's to be done?" asked Harry.
"I'd say quit," muttered Jim Ferrers. "Only, if we do, we lose our title to our claim. Of course, I mean quit only for a while—-say until spring—-but even that would forfeit our title here."
"Then it's not to be thought of," rejoined Tom, with a vigorous shake of his head. "I haven't lost a bit of my faith that, one of these days, this ridge is going to pay big profits to some one."
"We either have to quit, and give up, or stay and starve," rejoined
Ferrers.
"We've got to stick," Tom insisted. "In the first place, we owe our men a lot of money."
"They offered to take their chances," suggested Jim.
"True, but it's a debt, none the less. I shall see everyone of these men paid, even if I have to wait until I can save money enough at some other job to square the obligations in full. For myself, I don't intend to quit as long as I can swing a dull pick against a granite ledge."
"Then what did you come up for?" asked Harry dryly.