He
turned pale, and begun to dig for dear life. There was no prying him
loose. Well, that's a point Aggy hadn't counted on. He managed to
slide over near me.
"For heaven's sake, Hy!" he whispers, "fly down to Uncle Peters' and
get some more dust or we're ruined! I'll put it in the pan somehow, if
you'll only get it here! Hold the old man up if you have to--but get
that dust!"
I begun to holler very melancholy, and prance around. By and by I
pulled my freight loose and careless down creek.
"Say!" says Johnson, "there goes your friend, Mr. Jones! Shall I ketch
him?"
"Oh, no," says Aggy. "Let him alone--he's used to it around
here--he'll be back right away again."
When I got out of sight I humped for Uncle Peters.
"Sure!" says the old man, when I told him our troubles. "Take the
whole blasted clean-up, Hy. We honest men has got to stand by each and
one another--don't let that rascally tinhorn escape."
So I grabbed Uncle Peters' hard-earned savings and hustled back again.
As soon as I got in good view of the outfit, I knew something was
wrong, by the look of Ag's face; but what it was got me, for there was
both them fellers in the hole now, digging dirt like all possessed.
Daggett had busted his supenders, and the other lad's coat was ripped
up the back; but they didn't care; they were mauling the fair face of
nature like genuine lunatics, and cussing and swearing in their hurry.
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