“He will make something at any rate. I pity Silverthorn if ever our long-legged friend gets hold of him.”
After an hour they resumed their walk, and about four o’clock they reached their destination. They visited the location of the claim, and surveyed it with a guarded manner, not wishing to draw attention to it.
They fell in with a thin man, of medium stature, who talked in a drawling tone. He seemed to have a considerable share of curiosity.
“Where might you be from, strangers?” he inquired.
“We might be from China, but we aint,” said Tom.
“Is that a joke?” asked their new acquaintance, puzzled.
“Yes; it’s an attempt at a joke.”
“I reckon you don’t want to tell.”
“Oh, yes; we’re entirely willing. We came from Howe’s Gulch.”
“So? Did you strike it rich there?”