the horace greeley party arrived early the next morning, and breakfasted at the lower end of the gulch before proceeding upon an inspection of the diggin's. their visit was deemed of the utmost importance, for, as pat explained to terry, they were here to see the gold with their own eyes and handle it with their own fingers, so as to print the truth in the new york "tribyune."
sure, whatever horace greeley said, the people would believe.
in order to make certain that the report would be a good one, it had been arranged to pilot mr. greeley to the richest of the claims, and invite him to wash from these for himself. pat's was the lowest down and therefore the first—and now pat seemed to think that the reputation of the gulch rested on his shoulders.
he had donned a fresh shirt, ahead of time, and evidently had tried to slick up generally. the water had been turned off from the sluice as if in preparation for a postponed clean-up.
"take it 'asy," directed pat, when terry, having delivered the two pies contracted for, was about to spring into the pit and begin the business of the day. "let the sluice be, so his honor can clane up some o' the riffles by himself. an' we'll jist be loosenin' the dirt a bit here an' yon, for the sake o' keepin' busy an' makin' the place convanyent for him."
in fact, pat was so particular in "jist loosenin' the dirt a bit" that terry suspected him of not wishing to soil his shirt.
"well, i'm thinkin' they're comin'," pronounced pat. "out o' the pit with ye an' wash your hands an' face so ye'll be a credit to the gulch. sure, ye might have put on a clane shirt yourself—but mebbe 'tis better wan of us looks like a hard worker."
terry had a notion to retort that probably harry was wearing the clean shirt; they had only three shirts for the two of them, and the extra ought to go to the cook, of course.
all around, the other miners were unusually busy, so as to impress the great horace greeley, but they kept an eye directed down the gulch. now a party, on muleback, were drawing near. they numbered half a dozen, conducted by john gregory himself, and a little squad of onlookers trailed behind.
occasionally they stopped, to survey operations; pat, pretending to dig, awaited nervously.
"mind ye, let me do the talkin'," he cautioned, to terry. "an' be polite to his honor, yourself. he's a great man. an' in case oi ask ye to dig, take your dirt careless loike from the corner beside that white rock, for the rock's a lucky stone."
the party halted at pat's pit and gazed in, and pat and terry, pausing in their show of work, looked up. besides john gregory, there were in the party green russell and mr. williams, the stage company superintendent, and editor william byers of the rocky mountain news, and—yes, mr. villard, the cincinnati reporter.
terry did not know whether mr. villard would remember him, or recognize him, anyway, in those clothes, which were much worse than when worn in denver.
"this is one of our promising gulch claims," was saying john gregory. and—"good morning to you, pat," he addressed. "how are things looking with you today?"
"foine, thank ye, john," assured pat.
"come out a minute, pat. mr. greeley, i want to make you acquainted with mr. casey, a leading citizen of the gulch. and mr. richardson—mr. casey. and mr. villard—mr. casey." pat, who had clambered out, removed his hat and rather bashfully shook hands.
so that was horace greeley, was it; the editor of the new york tribune! he didn't look like an editor of a big paper such as the tribune. rather, with his square hat and his rosy face surrounded with a fringe of short white whiskers, and his roly-poly figure, as he sat his mule, his legs sticking straight out, he looked more like a church deacon or a prosperous "back east" farmer.
mr. richardson, who probably was that reporter for the boston journal, as spoken of by mr. villard in denver, was a tall, wiry man with soft hat and full brown beard, and wore a colt's revolver.
"these gentlemen are out from the east, pat," continued john gregory, "to see if it's true that we're all starving hereabouts and that the gold is in our eye. mebbe you've no objection to their doing a little investigating on their own account down in your hole there."
"faith, oi'd be proud if their honors would touch their fingers to me dirt," asserted pat. "would they loike to get down in, or shall oi pass a bit up to 'em?"
mr. greeley and mr. richardson and mr. villard dismounted and peeked in.
"about how much are you washing out a day, pat?" invited green russell.
"oh, a hundred dollars a day, more or less, dependin' on the clane-ups," answered pat.
"upon my word!" exclaimed mr. greeley, adjusting a pair of spectacles, the closer to peer. "i was scarcely prepared to find that a fact."
"you're ready to make a clean-up, i see," spoke mr. byers. "suppose you show mr. greeley and these other gentlemen. how long will it take?"
"a matter o' two hours," replied pat. "but would his honor loike to try a pan, first? sure, a pan or two from the pit, an' a couple from the riffles—that's a fair tist."
"yes, i believe i should like to see the evidences of a pan," declared mr. greeley.
"there's no need of his honor gettin' down in," averred pat. "it's no place for the feet of a gintleman. terry, me lad, pan a spadeful, will ye, an' show mr. grayley the color so the new york tribyune'll tell the world all about it?"
something in the slant of pat's eye reminded terry to dig his dirt from beside the white rock in the corner; seizing the spade, he did so, and dumped into the pan always handy. the ditch that fed the sluice was only a few steps from the shallow edge of the pit. squatting over it, terry deftly panned the dirt. no one could have done it better—and the result certainly was amazing. terry handed up the pan, but he scarcely could believe his eyes. mr. horace greeley would require no 'specs to see that color!
"between two an' thray dollars, your honor," assured pat, as amidst exclamations the remarkable pan was passed about. "even a boy can get the rale stuff in these diggin's. will your honor keep the dust for a token? an' will ye be after tryin' a pan for yourself? sure, everything ye find is yours."
"you might try a pan from the riffles of the sluice, mr. greeley," suggested mr. byers.
"i will." mr. greeley promptly rolled up his sleeves, and settled his square hat more firmly on his head. "let me have the pan, if you please." he carefully scraped the color from the pan and deposited it in a buckskin bag that he carried. "where shall i take from?"
"annywhere, annywhere, your honor," bade pat.
"why not about the middle, mr. greeley?" proposed journalist richardson. "that would be fair."
"let him alone, gintlemen," urged pat. "let his honor do it all himself. come out, terry, lad. ye'll be gettin' in his honor's way."
that was not one bit true, because mr. greeley would not be anywhere near terry. however, terry trudged out, to please the anxious pat; and now mr. villard hailed him.
"why—hello, pike's peak limited! i thought that was you. where's your partner, and how are you making it in the mines?" he shook heartily with terry, in spite of the mud on terry's clothes—not to speak of considerable on terry's hand.
"harry's up at the cabin. we're doing pretty well, thank you," answered terry.
"well, i should rather say you were, if you wash out two and three dollar pans! i was hoping to see you. mr. richardson has a message for you. richardson, this is one of the partners in that pike's peak limited outfit you've inquired about."
"oh, yes." and mr. richardson, the boston journalist, also shook hands with terry. "glad to meet you. mr. greeley and i passed some people on our way out by stage. that is, they spent the night near us, at one of the stage stations. they asked us, if we saw the pike's peak limited boys at the diggin's anywhere, to say they were coming. there were two families traveling together. one was mr. and mrs. richards——"
"they're my father and mother!" exclaimed terry.
"and the other was mr. and mrs. stanton, and a boy and a little girl."
"i know 'em!" cried terry, excited. "the boy's name is george and the girl's name is virgie. the stantons are near neighbors of my folks, in the big blue valley. are they near? when'll they get here?"
"oh, they were some distance out yet," smiled mr. richardson. "but they had spanking good teams and were pushing right through. they'll——"
"ha, ha! watch our old friend horace! he acts like an expert," laughed mr. villard.
for mr. greeley, after having deliberately selected the packed dirt from several of the riffles at the middle of the sluice, was proceeding to wash his pan at the ditch.
"why, his honor might have been in the diggin's all his life!" praised pat. "sure, isn't he a californy forty-niner?"
mr. greeley was not so swift in his motions as a skilled prospector, but he evidently knew the correct method. he dipped, and tilted the pan, and twirled out the dirt and water; and peered, and dipped and twirled again.
each time that he peered he seemed to be more interested, and his smooth, chubby face grew redder.
"have you struck it rich, mr. greeley?"
"upon my word!" and straightening, he returned with the pan held close under his nose. "marvelous! if this is gold—and i judge that it is—these are very rich diggings indeed."
they all crowded forward to inspect the pan. the bottom of it was absolutely yellow!
"hurrah for mr. greeley!" congratulated the other journalists, and hands patted him roundly on the back.
"gold!" proclaimed pat. "faith, an' if 'tain't a twinty dollar pan i'll ate it. wance i washed out siventeen dollars myself, but never a pan like that from mere a few riffles. keep it, your honor. would ye like to try ag'in?"
"oh, no, no," declined editor greeley, considerably flustered as he painstakingly transferred the flakes and dust to his buckskin sack. "this is proof enough. now i have worked with my own hands and seen the results with my own eyes—i have the results in my very pocket! nobody can gainsay the richness of these new western mines, and the truth shall be announced to the world as far as my paper can carry it." he smiled boyishly on terry. "i beat you, my son, didn't i? well, well!"
"this is one of the pike's peak limited boys, mr. greeley," explained journalist richardson. "you remember a party of emigrants on the trail sent word by us to them, in case we ran across them at cherry creek or elsewhere."
"yes, yes. that is so," and the great horace greeley extended his hand to terry. "you must be terry, then—the son of that mr. and mrs. richards in one of the wagons."
"yes, sir," answered terry, wondering how mr. greeley could remember. "they're my father and mother. the other outfit lived on the next ranch to us in the big blue valley."
"and they had another boy, and a little girl beside," said mr. greeley. "that's good. i'm glad to see young blood entering this vast new country of the united states. when i return to new york i think i shall print as a motto: 'go west, young man; go west.'"
after shaking hands again with pat, the horace greeley party rode on up the gulch, for further investigations. pat respectfully watched them; then he clapped on his battered hat and faced terry with a droll wink.
"b' gorry, that was good wages for an hour's work. oi'm thinkin' mr. grayley'll be wishin' to sell his tribyune an' dig in the dirt along with the rest of us here."
"i should say!" agreed terry. "jiminy, this is awful rich ground! i didn't know there was so much gold in here, did you? we must have opened up a regular layer yesterday."
"don't ye tell anybody," whispered pat, "but oi opened up me oyster-can a bit, an' sprinkled a few pinches jist to make the visit by his honor the more interestin'. sure," continued pat, "ye wouldn't want a man like the great horace grayley to soil his hands for mere a dollar or two, would ye? an' it's all right. the same gold came out o' here in the first place, an' wance oi tuk siventeen dollars an' fifty cents from a single pan, myself. he might have done as much without my help, if he'd struck the proper spot, an' i only made matters 'asy for him. now he can print the news with an exclamation point. well, let's clane up the sluice, an' give back to the oyster-can what's due it an' more besides."
