If he had not been in search of Richard
Dewey, he would have tarried at Murphy's, selected a claim, and gone
to work the very next day. He was anxious to have his share in the
rough but fascinating life which these men were leading. To him it
seemed like a constant picnic, with the prospect of drawing a golden
prize any day, provided you attended to business.
"That will come by and by," he thought to himself. "We must find
Cousin Ida's beau, and then we can attend to business."
Somehow, it seemed more natural to use the first name by which he
had known the young lady who employed him than the real name which
he had learned later. It may be necessary to remind the reader that
her name was Florence Douglas.
The next morning, after breakfast, the two friends left Murphy's,
and bent their course toward the mountains where they were told that
Richard Dewey was likely to be found. The direction given them was,
it must be confessed, not very definite, and the chances seemed very
much against their succeeding in the object of their search.
A week later we will look in upon them toward nightfall. They were
among the mountains now.
After the close of a laborious day they had tethered their animals
to a tree, and were considering a very important subject, namely,
where to find anything that would serve for supper.
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