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Hancock, H. Irving (Harrie Irving), 1868-1922

"Or, Seeking Fortune on the Turn of a Pick"


Reade?" Walsh inquired.
"Never."
"Then you'll find out what cold weather is like. A winter on
this Range isn't much worse, though, than what I've heard about
cold weather in Alaska."
"It'll be a relief to see six feet of snow, after living on the
hot desert of Arizona," Harry muttered.
By evening of the following day, when Jim and his companion returned
with the wagon-load of provisions, another day's work had been
done in the mine.
"Any color today?" was Ferrers's first question.
"No signs of gold," sighed Harry.
"I heard a new one over at Dugout City," Jim remarked carelessly.
"Heard a new one?" echoed Tom. "What was it?"
"A baby," Jim answered dryly.
"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded. "What has a baby
to do with a 'new one'?"
When the men began to laugh Harry suddenly discovered the joke.
"That's all right, Jim," growled Harry. "But I know something
that would tickle you."
"A feather, or a straw," mocked Ferrers.
"No! A crowbar!" grunted Hazelton making a reach for a tool of
that description.


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