"That means they're on their way for the load of wood," said Norris.
We waited some minutes, to insure the black boy getting out of view with Hawkins; and then we went forward, and out across the semi-clearing. There were four palm-thatched structures over there, with frames of pine saplings and bamboo. Beside the fourth, was the chicken yard of bamboo held together with tough grasses. In this corral were some hundreds of fowl, scratching and clucking much in the fashion of chickens back home.
"Chick, chick, chick, chick!" called Ray.
The fowl flocked toward the fence.
"I told you!" broke out Ray. "They sure understand United States."
"Oh, come on," pressed Grant Norris. "Let's get up to the diggings."
"Poor old Norris," murmured Ray, as if talking to himself, while he followed. "He'll be so disappointed when he finds out there's no gold mine."
Ray took shelter behind me as Norris, ahead, cast about for some kind of missile. We passed by a vegetable garden as we went; neat rows, carefully weeded.
I should say that my ankle was so far recovered that I had discarded my crutch and now limped on a cane. We soon had come up with the creek, where it flowed amongst the trees. A path showed the way along the bank, and the eager Norris pushed ahead, urging us to follow. I trotted after, at the best speed my lame ankle would allow, and Ray by my side. We hadn't covered two hundred yards, when another bit of clearing showed ahead.
"Hurry up," said Norris. "We'll be there in a second—Hurrah for the gold mine!"