Guess we might as well be moving towards camp." They
returned together, Cribbens telling the dentist of a group of antelope
he had seen.
"We might lay off to-morrow, an' see if we can plug a couple of them
fellers. Antelope steak would go pretty well after beans an' bacon an'
coffee week in an' week out."
McTeague was answering, when Cribbens interrupted him with an
exclamation of profound disgust. "I thought we were the first to
prospect along in here, an' now look at that. Don't it make you sick?"
He pointed out evidences of an abandoned prospector's camp just before
them--charred ashes, empty tin cans, one or two gold-miner's pans, and a
broken pick. "Don't that make you sick?" muttered Cribbens, sucking his
mustache furiously. "To think of us mushheads going over ground that's
been covered already! Say, pardner, we'll dig out of here to-morrow.
I've been thinking, anyhow, we'd better move to the south; that water of
ours is pretty low."
"Yes, yes, I guess so," assented the dentist. "There ain't any gold
here."
"Yes, there is," protested Cribbens doggedly; "there's gold all through
these hills, if we could only strike it. I tell you what, pardner, I got
a place in mind where I'll bet no one ain't prospected--least not very
many.
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