gregory gulch was now very different in appearance from that same gulch into which the extra limited had entered about a month ago. it resembled a noisy, booming new town. almost every foot of lower ground was occupied. a great deal of the timber had been cut from the ridges and slopes, to be used in cabins and sluices and for fuel; and the axes were merrily ringing, in tune with the staccato of hammers and the thud of picks.
more families had arrived, so that women were frequently seen, and some of the cabins looked exceedingly "homey." there were many more grocery stores and general supply stores, in tents or log buildings. where editor william byers' tent had stood, half-way up the gulch, town lots for the new central city had been staked out and were selling as high as $500 apiece!
flour was $20 a sack of 100 pounds, eggs were $2.50 a dozen, and milk fifty cents a quart. but money was very cheap, and prices seemed to cut little figure, for were not men digging, digging, digging, and emptying their dirt into rockers, or carrying it in gunny sacks and in sleds over pine-trunk tracks, to their sluices, and washing out the dust (some of them) to the amount of $200 a day?
at night the hundreds of camp fires lighted the gulch redly from side to side; and already there had been a great forest fire, on the new trail in from the platte, which had burned to death three men and a dog.
the trail itself was lively, said george, with gold-seekers still trudging into the mountains, singing, "i'm bound to the land of gold," and under table mountain had been started, on clear creek, a town named "golden city." it contained about thirty cabins and nearly a thousand people, living in the cabins or camping!
and denver and auraria were booming, also.
amidst such apparent prosperity it did seem as though persons anxious to work could find work that would pay. but the trouble was that gregory gulch had become over-populated. the newcomers asserted that the old-timers, like the gregory crowd, had located too much ground, and that the claims ought to be cut down from one hundred feet to twenty-five feet, so as to give more people a chance. this movement did not prove out, because when a miners' meeting was held, to make changes in the regulations, the old-timers put in their own men as officers and won.
consequently, what with the high prices of food and lumber, and the many claims that yielded scarcely anything, and the constant rush to get other claims wherever possible, a lot of people were glad to turn their hands to any kind of work.
terry and george tramped clear up the gulch, inquiring at sluice and rocker and prospect hole, and even at tents and cabins.
"need any help?" or: "do you know of a job we can get?" or: "could you use a couple of husky boys around here?"
some parties were so busy that they only shook their heads, without pausing. others directed them on, or to right or left. but after having volunteered in vain as miners, carpenters, and even as wood-choppers, they reached the head of the gulch, and turned back.
"well, guess we'll go down to the other end," sighed terry.
"this sure is a tough proposition," said george, using professional language. "anyway, we've got enough to live on for a day or two, haven't we? wonder when harry'll be back."
"he won't come back till he has duke; you can depend on that. maybe he hasn't money enough."
"he can borrow from the folks."
"he won't, though. he'd rather work and earn some more."
"you can sell your mine, can't you, if you have to?" asked george. "he said sell it. and we can sell the true blue. i'd as lief."
"we gave it to virgie," reminded terry.
"aw, she wouldn't care. it's no good, is it? it doesn't own any water."
"well, 'tisn't as good as the golden prize," admitted terry. "maybe we'll sell the golden prize and find something better. but i'd like to wait till harry comes. i'd hate to sell it to that pine knot ike gang."
"they offered you $100, though, didn't they?"
"y-yes," admitted terry. "it's better than nothing, of course."
they two (for shep had been left to guard the cabin) were retracing their steps by a slightly different route down the opposite side of the gulch, so as not to miss any chances, and now came upon the wheel-barrow man.
"why, hello, young pike's peak limited," he greeted. "how's the gold-seeking business?"
"we're not gold-seeking, we're job-seeking," explained terry. "do you know of a job for a couple like us?"
the wheel-barrow man appeared to have packed up. his blanket roll and a fry-pan and tin cup were laid ready in front of his closed cabin.
"what's the matter? didn't your prospects pan out?" he queried.
"we haven't any water, so we quit. then i worked for pat casey, and he quit, and we can't even sell pies," confessed terry.
"where's your other partner?"
"he went down to denver and auraria, to buy our buffalo back. they're trying to match duke against a bear."
"pshaw! that so? i'm going down to denver myself, to look about in time before snow flies. i understand it begins to snow up here in september, and everybody'll be driven out."
"what'll you do with your mine? you've got one, haven't you?" asked george.
"sure pop, young man. and it's recorded, too, on the district books; and if anybody jumps it while i'm gone there'll be a heap of trouble for him. it's in black and white, described according to miners' law. say—if you boys really want to work, you go on to gregory point, near the mouth of the gulch, and maybe you can get a day's work, or several days' work, on the new church they're putting up there for a preacher."
"come on, george," bade terry. and—"much obliged," he called back. "where's your wheel-barrow?"
"played out at last. don't need it, anyway. can carry all i've got on my back."
"what's 'recorded'?" queried george, as they hurried off. "are our claims recorded?"
"don't think so," puffed terry. "nobody told us to record 'em. they're ours, and we've been sitting on them right alone. i'll ask harry when he comes back."
"or we can ask pat casey," proposed george.
they did not find pat. his pit was idle and he was away—hunting witnesses to the sale by which he had bought the prospect. but they found the church, or rather the site of the church, on gregory point, as that was called, near the mouth of the gulch. already a platform like a floor had been constructed; several men were busy hauling logs and leveling the ground with spades for another building; and the yale preacher from the true blue claim had his sleeves rolled up and was working with the rest. it was to be his church!
he warmly welcomed terry, and shook hands with george also.
"yes, indeed; plenty of work here," he jubilated—and terry's heart beat expectantly. "we need strong arms. bring along ax and spade, and pitch in. but," he added, "everything is donated, of course. the labor, material, ground—all is a gift to help the good cause. the people in the gulch are mighty generous, and their payment will come in this opportunity regularly to worship god instead of always worshipping gold. they can't live in a civilized fashion without a church. so the quicker we have such a place, the better. what do you say? want to help?"
terry looked at george; george looked at terry.
"i'd rather do that than do nothing," blurted george. "only——"
"so would i," answered terry. "but you see," he said, to the preacher, "those claims have played out——"
"that's too bad," sympathized the preacher. "both of them?"
"yes, sir. we can't mine 'em till we have water. the water's gone. and our jobs busted, and i reckon we'll have to earn our keep. but we'd as lief help here till we strike another job."
"all right. bully for you! to work once in a while for something besides money never hurts anybody," assured the preacher. "i have to do a lot of that myself. bring down your tools whenever you feel like it. i expect some of the men will be working here all night because they can't spare the time during the day. we're going to finish the church and my cabin before sunday. but maybe you'd rather wait till morning. it's nearly supper time now. come after supper, though, to the prayer-meeting. we hold the first prayer-meeting, around this platform. and i'll want you to join the sunday-school."
they left the enthusiastic preacher and his volunteers building the first church in the diggin's.
"might as well go home, i guess," remarked terry.
twilight was empurpling the hills when they arrived. this had been a lively day, but not a very successful one.
"anyway, we've got enough to eat," quoth george. "and if we work on the church that may lead to something else. we'll keep busy."
"sure," agreed terry. "keep a-going, as harry said, all the way out. keep a-going."
by the time that they had finished supper and washed the dishes the gulch was again redly outlined by the hundred camp fires. the sounds of axes and picks and saws had ceased, and there arose the hum of conversation, broken by shouts and laughs and occasional bits of music.
as they stumped along their way to the prayer-meeting (which was quite an event) they passed a tent where somebody was playing the violin—and farther on, in a cabin, a group of men were singing "home, sweet home," to the tune of an accordian.
the prayer-meeting was being held, sure enough. there on the point was the platform, lighted by torches and surrounded by a throng of people sitting on the ground and stumps and boxes and logs, listening to the preacher. or—no!
"that's the lord's prayer! they're all saying the lord's prayer!" uttered george, awed.
so they were—or at least from this distance the cadence sounded like the lord's prayer, repeated in unison by those whiskered men of flannel shirts and high boots and revolvers and by the tanned women in shabby calico dresses. a great sight that was—and a very good sound, for these parts or any parts.
"there's another meeting!" whispered terry, for he did not feel like speaking aloud when the lord's prayer was being recited. "haven't got two preachers, have we?"
for just below the prayer-meeting a man was standing in an open wagon and addressing another crowd. he was talking fast, the listeners jostled and craned, and the flare of the pitch-pine torch planted on the wagon lighted their hairy, up-turned faces.
"we'll have to go and see," uttered george; who, as a tenderfoot, was eager to see everything.
presently the words of the man in the wagon-box could be heard above the refrain of the lord's prayer around the platform. he was somebody whom terry never had noticed before in the gulch—a thin, slab-sided man with carroty hair and beard and dressed in prospector's clothes; wore a revolver; no preacher, he. certainly not, for——
"yes, gentlemen," he was saying, "not more'n fifty miles from here there's a place where every one o' you can wash your pound o' gold dust to a man per day. me and my partners are the first white men in there; we've made our locations and our laws and have started a new camp that'll be a world-beater. tarryall, we've named it; in the big south park: the best and richest country on the face o' the earth. as soon as i get provisions here i'm goin' back in, and i'll take any o' you who want to go with me, on the understandin' you'll respect our rights as first locators. there's plenty room, gentlemen—and a pound o' gold a day per man waitin' to be dug. it's yours, gentlemen, if you want it. we'll welcome you to tarryall. only fifty miles to fortune, remember. i'll show you the way, but i start early in the mornin'."
the crowd jostled excitedly. on the outskirts george clutched terry hard by the sleeve.
"let's go!" he exclaimed. "did you hear? a pound a day! that beats these diggin's. cracky! i knew there was some place where a fellow could dig his pound a day. we can go and make our strike, and then 'twon't matter whether we sell these claims in here or not."
"all right; let's," agreed terry, fired with the same idea. "we'll locate for ourselves and harry, too; or if they won't allow boys to locate in their own names we'll locate in harry's name and my dad's and your dad's! harry'd never go to any of those other big strikes—the bobtail, or the one in russell gulch, or a lot more. we've stuck here, when we might have been getting rich somewhere else."
"come on back to the cabin and pack up," urged george.
they turned, when a voice at their elbow stayed them.
"got the fever again, have you?"
he was the "root hog or die" professor.
"guess so," grinned terry. "you've been away, haven't you? did green russell find you a mine? do you know that man in the wagon? has he made a big strike?"
"never saw him before and don't know anything about him," answered the professor. "yes, i've got a few prospects, but i'm holding them for more water. just now i'm recorder for this district. they elected me only the other day. how are you doing? where's harry?"
"we're waiting for water, too. he's down at denver, but he's coming back. will you record our claims? do we have to record them?"
"no, you don't have to. it might be safer, though. but i can't record them tonight. the books are locked up. what are they?"
"the golden prize and the true blue. they're over there."
"i know. you look me up at the office first thing in the morning and we'll record them."
"we won't have time. we're going to follow that man in the wagon to the new strike," explained terry. "nobody'd said anything about recording until this evening. but we'll be back."
"well, i'll make a memorandum, then," proposed the professor, "so you'll be safer. nobody's liable to jump your claims while you're gone, if they can't be worked. the gulch is full of such claims. but you look me up as soon as you can."
"all right. much obliged," replied terry. "maybe we won't want those claims after we've been to the new strike."
"we'd better be going. we've got to find jenny and pack our stuff," urged george, impatient.
"good luck to you," called the professor, as they hastened away.
"i'd like to surprise harry with a regular gold mine, by the time he sees us again," uttered terry.
"sure. we'll leave a note in the cabin saying we've gone to get rich," enthused george.
