Among the pile of nuggets were some marked in a peculiar way, and these, it developed later, were the property of Jerry Decker. Though the amount was not quite as much as he claimed (due, perhaps, to toll taken by the bandits) it was a goodly sum, and when news of the recovery of it was sent to the injured man it did more to restore him to health and strength than all the doctor’s medicine.
“Well, fellows, we’ve got to work harder than we’ve been doing,” Roy announced one night as the prospectors gathered about the campfire. They had been gradually sinking their shaft deeper and deeper, and had cut several lateral tunnels, timbered with much labor and no little risk, but, so far, all the gold they had taken out had not paid them for their work—not even counting the first big nugget found.
“Work harder?” groaned Teddy. “My back’s ’most broken now, and as for my hands—I’ll be lucky if I can ever hold the reins again,” and he held up his blistered palms.
“Don’t give up!” begged Gus. “Lots of times, when everything seems like to be peterin’ out, a man may make a lucky strike.”
“Well, it’s got to come pretty soon for me, or I’ll pull up stakes and go back to riding fence,” announced Teddy.
“Are you really serious about that?” asked his brother.
“I sure am. This gold rush doesn’t mean as much as it did at first.”
Truth to tell, Nugget Camp did appear to be “petering out.” It had been famous in its day, and might be again, many days hence. But just now, aside from a few sensational finds of rich nuggets here and there, most of the miners, including the X Bar X boys, were not making a living at it. About the only ones who were really taking in anything were the proprietors of the gambling joints and the various “hotels.”
“Oh, don’t give up yet,” begged Roy, as he and Teddy prepared to turn in that night. “They don’t really need us back at the ranch, and we might as well give the wheel of fortune another turn or two.”
“Oh, I’m not quitting—completely,” said Teddy. “As for them not needing us—”