“Then it’s a fact that—” Bug Eye began.
“Oh, the monkey wrapped his tail around the flag-pole,” Pop sang loudly. “Do-do-do-do, do-do do-do!” He stopped and looked around him. He saw no one, and came closer. “Suppose you waddies swim down from there an’ we’ll have a talk,” he said meaningly.
The boys jumped to the ground. Evidently Pop had something on his mind. When they were gathered about him, he said:
“Now listen. I had a long talk with Jerry. I saw the gun that knocked him off, too. An’ I’ll remember if I ever see another like it. All right! Jerry told me that Nugget Camp was the richest strike that’s been made within a thousand miles of here—ever! He said that!” Pop’s voice was low, deadly in earnest. “An’ if the boys on this here ranch hear about it, there won’t be enough left to get up a good rousin’ game of solitaire! Think that over!” He stuck his hands deep in his pockets. “Think that over an’ lose some sleep!”
There was a moment’s silence while the import of Pop’s words sank in. Perhaps only to one—Roy—did they mean anything but anxiety as to when the news would be circulated. But Roy’s mind was running on another track. He appreciated, of course, that the business of ranching would be seriously interrupted if any more hands left, if the new men joined the rush. But he saw further than that. He saw a chance for him and his brother to enlist in a new series of adventures, and at the same time with a possibility of getting rich.
“And what do you think about it, Pop?” Roy asked at length. “Any pronounced opinions on the subject?”
“You mean about goin’?”
“I mean about the chances of striking gold at Nugget Camp.”
“Oh!” the old puncher rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, if you really want to know, Roy—I think the chances are pretty blame good!”
“What about you telling the boys that they’d be crazy to leave here and head for Nugget Camp?”