The Pike's Peak Rush Part 38

"Crazy, I told you. Thinks he has a strike, and maybe he has. But it's well to let a crazy man alone, and as long as he stays away from us we stay away from him. The park's big enough for that. Dutchman Diggin's, we've named his gulch. One of the boys happened in there, by accident, and was run out at the point of a shot-gun. All we see of the Dutchman is when he's hunting, and even then he's not far away from home, you bet. Now, that gulch is just beyond the second bunch of timber, south.

See? And I'm warning you, friendly, because you're young."

"We'll watch out. Much obliged," promised Terry.

"Yes, but he'd better watch out, too," bl.u.s.tered George. "We're no tenderfeet. This gun of mine is a humdinger. He won't know it's got a wooden hammer, and it might shoot."

"Pshaw, now!" laughed the Tarryall man. "You certainly walk kind of tender-footed. But go ahead and find your pound a day."

"Guess we'll try south, just the same," said Terry, to George, as they struck off. "We can dodge the Dutchman, and there aren't many of the crowd down that way."

"Where'll we begin?" queried George, keeping pace.

"Whenever we come to a low place where there's water we'll pan for color. That's the only way," instructed Terry. "The gulches are the best places."

"Well, we'll have to locate our own diggin's pretty quick and hustle back for Harry, or we'll be all out of grub," declared George.

This search for color was fascinating work, especially when they had the field practically to themselves. There were so many likely places, one after another. Terry planned to pattern after John Gregory, and follow the color right to the source--that is, follow it when once they had found it. But to find it was the chief difficulty.

They panned faithfully clear up the first gulch, to its head--pa.s.sing a few other "panners." Then they took the trail of a side draw and crossed over to another gulch and panned there. Once they thought that they had struck something, but it proved to be only a trace, and they lost even that. The country was getting wild and lonely.

"Don't suppose there are any Injuns watching, do you?" suddenly suggested George, as they were crossing a little pa.s.s that appeared to lead to still another draw or gulch.

"No." Pine and rock basked peacefully and innocent in the afternoon sunshine. "n.o.body said anything about 'em. Shep would smell 'em. He hates Injuns. We'll try this next gulch and come out at the lower end, and then make tracks for camp. The sun's going to set."

They crossed over the ridge and descended.

"She looks like a good one, this time, doesn't she!" appraised George, while they strode and slid and leaped down the short slope, with Shep scouting on either hand.

"We're too high up for water, though," criticized Terry. "Can't pan without water."

The gulch was a small one, and dry. They followed along the bottom, where a stream course had worn the pebbles round and scored the soil into banks.

"I hear water," uttered Terry. "There's a stream ahead, all right."

The gulch was joined by another gulch entering at an angle--and by a stream, as well.

"Here's your good place to pan," exulted Terry. "See the gravel and the bars? Sort of an eddy. Regular pound-a-day place!"

"Yes; and somebody else has been digging, too!" growled George, disgusted. "Can't we ever discover anything?"

"They aren't digging now. Those are only gopherings. We'll get deeper.

That's where the big strikes lie--down deep on bed-rock," encouraged Terry.

"Dig deep, boy," bade George.

"Dig deep, for a pound a day."

And they set to work. George's spade clinked on rock, and at blade length he carefully dumped dirt and gravel into his pan.

"Golly, I believe I see gold!" he breathed. Terry paused to await results. George panned feverishly--grew more and more excited. "Hurrah!

Look-ee here! We've struck it!" His pan, not yet fully cleared, was sparkling and yellow all over the bottom! "We've struck it!"

"We've struck it!" cheered Terry, forgetful of his own pan awaiting.

They danced. Shep barked and gamboled. And a heavy voice broke in with--

"Ja! You struck it. Maybe not! Maybe you get struck mit a club! Hold your hands up an' keep quiet until I see what kind of robbers you are dot come into my gulch."

CHAPTER XX

MILLIONS IN SIGHT

George dropped his jaw and almost dropped the pan. He and Terry stopped short in their dance, Shep growled, they all stared; stared into the muzzles of a double-barrel shot-gun projecting over the top of a big boulder not fifteen steps at one side, and also into the eyes of a man squatting concealed and squinting over the sight. He was bare-headed and tow-headed.

He slowly arose, with shot-gun leveled, and proved to be a pudgy fat man in dirty checkered shirt and faded blue overalls with bib and straps; regular barnyard overalls.

"Gee, the crazy Dutchman!" gasped George.

"Dot is one lie," corrected the man, steadily. "Joost like American boys, who haf no respect. You come into my gulch to steal mein gold und you call me 'crazy' und a 'Dootchmann,' und for dot I haf a mind to blow off your heads off. Ja!" In his anger he spoke with a stronger German accent than ever. "Vat you want, anyhow? Where you from?"

"Oh--I know you!" exclaimed Terry, gladly. "Sure I do. And you know me.

You're the Lightning Express. Remember, you sold us your sacks. I thought you'd gone home. What are _you_ doing in here?"

Now the German gaped and stared. He slowly lowered his gun, and grinned widely.

"Ja, ja. Sure! You are one of dose Pike's Peak Limited boys. Ja, ja! You wa.s.s driving a mule an' a boof'lo. Ja, ja! Well, well! An' where is dot partner--dot nice young man? And who is dis odder boy? An' what you doing in my gulch--say!"

"We didn't know it was your gulch. This boy is George Stanton. He's my partner, too. My other partner's down at Denver. We've been over in the Gregory diggin's."

"An' are you prospecting alone? Dere is more of you?" demanded the German, suspiciously.

"No, we're alone," a.s.sured Terry.

"Well, well. Is dot so? Den you needn't be afraid. I would not harm goot boys. Nein, nein." Now apparently in fine humor, he waddled forward to shake hands.

"We're not afraid," replied Terry.

"I should say not," alleged George. "Your gun wasn't c.o.c.ked, and we could have ducked. You'd have had to fight the two of us at once, besides the dog. That's a powerful dog. He's licked an Injun."

"Is dot so?" repeated the German, eying Shep. "I stick my one foot in his mouth an' kick him mit de odder. But no, no. Fighting is not goot. I only fight to protect my gulch. Come on down; come on down to where I lif, an' we haf supper."

"This is your dust, isn't it?" queried George, proffering the pan.

"It's out of that dirt. Do you own all the gulch?"

"Ja; my gulch. But nefer mind. You keep what you find. I haf plenty, plenty. Come on down now an' I show you somet'ings. You odder boy wash your pan. Den we all go."