They saw then that it was a pick Casey had on his shoulder. Hanging from his saddlehorn was a bundle of clothes.
“What news? What happened? Everything all right at home?” Roy asked quickly.
“Sure, as far as I know! It ain’t that!” Jim, a tall, well-built puncher, of about thirty-five, swung the pick down. “It ain’t that. Nothin’s happened there. But some place else there has!”
“Well, what?”
“A gold strike! A bonanza! At Nugget Camp! Millions of dollars lyin’ around loose! Me, I’m on my way to stake a claim. One guy found a nugget worth—oh, fifty thousand! Maybe more! Boy, we’ll all be rich!” He was prancing his pony around excitedly. “I told yore pop I was goin’, an’ I am! What’s the use of workin’ for wages when you can lean over an’ pick up gold! Hey?” He paused, breathless.
“At Nugget Camp, you said?” Teddy asked, looking at the cowboy strangely.
“That’s what! An’ I’m goin’ to be one of the lucky ones. No passin’ up a chance like that for yours truly!”
“But listen—” Roy began, when Jim Casey cut him short.
“I’d like to, Roy, but I ain’t got time. There’s lots goin’ out. I want to get a good claim. So long! Wish me luck!” and he was off.
“Well, what do you know about that!” Teddy said slowly. “One of our own men got the fever!”