BEN’S PARTNER PROVES A TRUMP
The watch was continued for several nights, but in vain. As none came
to claim the opium, it was taken away and a valuation of two thousand
dollars was placed upon it, of which Ben’s share amounted to nearly
seven hundred dollars.
It did not seem possible that those little boxes, filled with a sticky
substance which looked like very black and thick molasses, could be
worth so much. The readiness with which a broker advanced Ben the money
due on his claim, however, was tangible evidence, and he found no fault
with the exorbitant rate of interest exacted.
There was one phase of the affair that was most unpleasant to Ben,--the
suspicion with which the Government officials regarded Mundon and
himself.
“Some one blabbed,” one of them pointedly said to him, “or else the
parties who stowed that stuff away would have come back for it.”
Another time he overheard one man remark to another, “I don’t agree
with you. I think the boy’s honest enough; but that fellow with him
looks like a slippery one.”
“But the boy’s the one who gets the reward.”
“I know. But that fellow’ll get it out of him before he’s through with
him.”
A thought that this might be true came into Ben’s mind, but he
dismissed it at once as unworthy. Yet it is hard to get rid of a
vicious weed, and this doubt presented itself to him from time to time.
Mundon proved more useful to Ben as time went on and his own ignorance
and inexperience became more marked. He congratulated himself many
times upon the good luck which had sent this man across his path.
“Gee-willikens, Mundon! How are we ever going to get this chimney
down?” Ben looked up at the massive pillar of brick which reared itself
above him. “It looks about a mile high, when you stand close to it.
Why,” he added with a blank look, “it’ll take us months to level it.”
“You was a-calculatin’ to level it?” Mundon laconically asked.
“Of course. How else can we work over the bricks that are in it?”
“Um! How’d you think you’d git it down?”
“Well--that’s what’s worrying me. I had a sort of plan to scrape down
the soot. But the bricks--how are we going to get at them?”
“Your idee is good--as fur as it goes; but I think I can give you a
better one than scrapin’ the chimney of soot.”
“Let’s have it.”
“I’d rig a cross-piece--shaped just like a cross--to work inside the
chimney, from a rope over the top, like an elevator.”
Ben caught his breath. “How would you ever get a rope over the top?” he
asked.
“O, that’s easy. I haven’t ben a sailor fur nothin’. Then, I’d chip off
the whole inside of the chimney.”
“We’d work just the inside?”
“That’s all we want, ain’t it? It’s the golden linin’ we’re after. We
don’t want the rest.”
“No; and it will save time and strength to leave the rest alone.”
“We’ll leave the balance of the bricks for those that come after us.
’Twon’t hurt the chimney a mite, neither.”
“Mundon, you’re a brick!” exclaimed Ben.
Mundon waited a moment before replying. He liked the frank admiration
that shone in Ben’s eyes.
“There ain’t nothin’ sure in this world, Ben, and it’s mighty oncertain
sometimes to draw conclusions from things you’ve ben told. What’s more,
you can’t b’lieve all you hear.”
“You’re preparing me to be disappointed, Mundon,” said Ben. “But I’m
bracing myself for that, too. I know it’s a chance.”
“Most everythin’ is--’cept runnin’ a peanut-stand near a monkey’s cage.”
Ben laughed. “How you’re ever going to get a rope over that top?” He
looked up and shook his head in despair.
“No fear--I’ll manage that. Just let me get some stuff for a
scaffoldin’ and I’ll show you the trick in a jiffy.”
“You’re a wonder,” Ben replied.
The question as to what he should have done without Mundon’s help
occurred to him again, but he did not express it.
“I heard when I was up town this mornin’ that there was goin’ to be a
sale of mules to-morrow.”
“You think we’ll need one to work the arastra?”
“Couldn’t hev nothin’ better. This sale’s goin’ to be at a horse-market
out near the Potrero. S’pose you see if you kin get one cheap.”
“Yes; I’ll go to the sale.” Ben paused. “I say, Mundon, what is
cheap--for a mule?”
“’Bout fifteen dollars ought to git one good enough, at an auction.”
“That was about the figure I had in mind. Of course, I don’t ask your
opinion, Mundon, so much to get advice as I do to compare notes. I like
to see if your judgment and mine agree.”
Mundon did not look up, but went steadily on with his work. “I
understand--of course,” he replied.