“My store of money is panning out very fast,” said Harry, with a faint smile.
“I’ve got less than two pounds left,” said Jack. “What are we going to do when it’s all gone?”
“I don’t know,” said Obed, “unless we catch another murderer.”
The boys smiled, but not hilariously. They felt, as Obed expressed it, that matters were indeed becoming serious. To run short of money nearly ten thousand miles from home was no light thing.
“We might sell the claim,” suggested Harry.
Obed shook his head.
“I don’t think we could,” he replied. “Everybody would understand our reason for selling—that we despaired of finding any gold—and instead of getting twenty-five pounds, I doubt if you could get twenty-five shillings for it. You know about how long twenty-five shillings would last us.”
“I suppose there is nothing to do but to keep on,” said Harry.
Obed nodded. “You’ve said it,” he returned. “Let us keep up good heart, my boys. Don’t borrow trouble. When things come to the worst we’ll decide what to do then.”
By way of setting the example of cheerfulness Obed began to whistle “Yankee Doodle,” and the boys joined in. It was not altogether a successful effort, but it made them feel a little more cheerful. At all events it attracted a listener—a tall, shabby-looking tramp, who had been wandering about for a day or two, visiting one claim after another, trying to raise a loan.