“I think he did, because he was babbling of ten and twenty thousand dollars,” Belle said seriously.
“Twenty thousand!” Roy gave vent to a long whistle. “That’s some money!”
“Did he say his nuggets were worth that much?” Teddy demanded.
“No, he didn’t. But I gathered that’s what he meant.”
“That is a big loss,” the boy remarked. “No wonder he was worried. Me, I’d be worried, too. Poor geezer! After working for maybe two years then making a strike—and he gets robbed of it! Not only that, but he may even die in the bargain.”
“I really think he’ll recover,” Belle said. “He’s thin, but he’s lived in the open most of his life. His stamina is good. He lost a lot of blood, but—”
“A-ha, words of wisdom!” Teddy laughed. “So doc said all this, did he?”
“Well, what if he did?” Belle answered, raising her chin defiantly. “It’s all true!”
“Sure it is,” Roy comforted her. “I certainly hope he pulls through. Moreover, I hope we get his nuggets back for him.”
The morning was clear, the air keen, and each of the three rode as though this was the thing they wanted most of all to do—ride and breathe and live. They were at a period in life when the world showed itself to be a particularly wonderful place. Every bird that winged overhead, every cloud that veiled the sun for a moment, every breeze that blew, seemed to exist just for them.