“Without uh shadder of uh doubt.”
“You don’t happen to be looking for uh prospect, do yuh?” inquires
Whispering.
“Fair,” says the tall one. “Good covers too much territory. Is there
such uh thing around here?”
“Purchase, promotion or paltry gain?” inquires Forty-Dollar.
“Something that looks good might hit our fleeting fancy,” replies the
tall one, and the short one nods and sips whisky that would kill uh
coyote at point-blank range. “Something that looks good,” he agrees.
“First we must find uh place of abode.”
“To sleep, and so forth,” agrees Whispering. “Take my cabin. It’s got uh
dirt floor and few of the comforts uh home, but you’re plumb welcome. I
holes up with Forty-Dollar.
“Gents, my name is Smith, and called Whispering ’cause I can’t. This one
is Forty-Dollar Fisher, and the poison-mixer is Lonesome Larson. That
elongated ani-mile over there is Sad Sanderson, whose middle name is
Slim. As representatives of Painted Post we welcomes yuh.”
“We take it, and are pleased to meet yuh,” says the tall one. “I am of
the tribe of Simpkins, and my pardner answers to the name of Harper. We
thanks you for your seeming generosity. If you’ll point out the cabin
we’ll bless yuh.”
* * * * *
“There is our grubstake,” chuckles Whispering, as them two P. T. Barnum
nightmares pilgrims off to the cabin with their burros. “Them hombres
got money.”
“And no way to pry it loose,” wails Forty-Dollar. “How yuh going to sell
nothing to even uh tenderfoot for something?”
“Tenderfoot is right,” grins Whispering. “Look at the stuff they got
packed on them burros. Rocking-chairs, garden-rakes, uh hoe, uh
half-dozen brooms and uh box uh soap! My gosh! I’ll sell ’em the Yaller
Chuck.”
“What about my Golden Glow property?” asks Forty-Dollar.
“And my Web uh Gold workings?” I asks.
“Fools fight but wise men figure,” states Lonesome.
“Maybe they knows something about rock,” I complains. “We ain’t got
nothing to show.”
“Salt,” replies Whispering. “Season ’em.”
“What with?” demands Forty. “We ain’t got no gold to salt with.”
“How much?” inquires Lonesome.
“Plenty,” says Whispering. “Give ’em enough so they won’t haggle about
the price.”
“I know!” exclaims Lonesome. “Take uh shotgun and load her with gold.
Bang into the rock! Haw! haw! haw! So?”
“Exactly,” agrees Forty. “You’re uh wise man, Lonesome.”
“You know it,” and he takes the bottle off the bar.
“Ho, hum-m-m-m!” yawns Forty. “It’s always the way. When yuh got money
you can make money. I wish I knowed uh man who had uh little money to
bet on uh cinch. Ain’t you got none, Lonesome? Man, this is better than
five aces in uh poker game.”
“I plays safe,” states Lonesome. “If you show me where I can get my
money back and fifty per cent. interest, I’ll talk.”
“Lonesome, your folks must uh come from the Holy Land,” opines
Whispering. “All them fellers wants is something that looks good. If I
had uh little gold I could make granite look good to them.”
“Let’s wait and find out if they got any money,” advises Lonesome, and
we all agrees.
We opens up our usual poker game, and plays for futures. When them
specimens comes in I’m loser half uh million, so we shuts up the game,
and prepares to visit.
“Nice looking country around here,” opines Simpkins.
“Best on earth,” agrees Whispering. “She’s in uh class by herself.”
“I’d back up that last assertion,” agrees Harper. “Anything in the
mineral line been found around here lately?”
“Well,” says Forty-Dollar, moving up close and speaking in uh low tone.
“Now, that you’ve brought up the subject, we may as well let yuh in on
uh good thing. We’ve kept it under cover for uh long time. This place is
the richest district in——”
“I’ve got uh prospect—” begins Whispering, but Forty waves him to
silence.
“Now, my piece uh property is worth uh hundred thousand dollars, and to
the ordinary eye she ain’t worth six bits. You’ve heard that old saying
that gold is where yuh find it? Well, there she is! The formation ain’t
gold-bearing—not according to books, but yuh can’t dispute your own
eyes.”
“I reckon it would take too much money,” replies Simpkins. “We ain’t
looking to buy no mint.”
“Uh-huh,” agrees Forty. “She’s uh valuable thing, but I ain’t no
Shylock. I’m uh plain ordinary prospector, and I believes in the
equality uh man. Make me an offer. Uh course I wants yuh to see and test
the property. When can yuh go up there?”
“Where is it?” asks Harper.
“She’s called the Golden Glow, and she’s located in the second gulch
above here—three miles. When can yuh look at it?”
Simpkins scratches his head for uh spell, and picks on the buttons on
his shiny shoes.
“Well, there ain’t no sure thing that I wants to buy. Yuh see we wants
to look things over and maybe find something for ourselves. Tomorrow
we’ll take our hoe and rocking-chair, and look around.”
“Hoe and rocking-chair!” snorts Whispering. “Prospect with utensils like
that?”
“Uh-huh,” nods Simpkins. “There ain’t no use in being uncomfortable. The
feller what sold ’em to us said they’d come in awful handy. Yuh can’t
always find a good place to set down.”
“I feels that you’ll like this Golden Glow,” states Forty-Dollar. “Uh
course it will take uh little cash.”
“Magpie can write uh check for fifty thousand,” states Harper.
“You can, too, Ike. We’re pardners in all things.” Simpkins grins.
“My gosh!” whoops Whispering, after they’re gone. “If we don’t get uh
stake out uh them I’m uh liar. They’re the greenest things that ever
follered uh jackass.”
“If we had the wherewith to salt,” says I. “You can’t sell ’em nothing
without uh showing uh some kind, Whispering.”
“Where do I profit if I furnish the salt?” asks Lonesome.
“There’s four of us,” states Whispering. “If you furnish the salt, uh
course you’re entitled to uh little more than the rest of us, Lonesome.
Suppose you take uh fourth and the three of us split the remainder?”
“Some day you’re going to give away your right name, Whispering,” grins
Lonesome. “I’ll take uh third, and all the salt back.”
“All right. I’ll let you have uh third, Lonesome. It’s more——”
“Being as it’s my claim I’ll take uh third, and you and Whispering can
split the other third to suit yuh, Sad,” states Forty. “How does that
suit yuh?”
“Just like tarantalers,” says I. “Forty, your mine ain’t worth six bits.
Me and Whispering will take that other third and half uh your share and
pay you six bits to boot.”
“Give me the six bits now?”
“After the deal is over,” says I, and Forty-Dollar nods. Lonesome opens
his little iron safe and takes out uh buckskin poke. He lays it on the
bar and fingers it, loving-like.
“Here is forty-four ounces,” he states. “It’s Horse Crick gold and she
runs eighteen dollars per ounce. I bought it from ‘Swede’ Swanson this
Spring. How much do yuh want?”
“I got uh ten-gage muzzle-loader,” informs Forty-Dollar. “She takes two
ounces uh shot to uh load.”
“My ——!” wails Lonesome. “Seventy-two dollars! How many times you going
to shoot, Forty?”
“Twice. I’ll shoot her into some uh that soft stuff, and it’ll be uh
cinch to pan it all out again. We’ll get it all back.”
Lonesome weighs out four ounces and hands it to Forty-Dollar.
“I’ll go over and load her right up,” announces Forty. “In the morning
I’ll sneak up there early and shoot her full uh wealth. No use of all of
us going, ’cause we don’t want ’em to suspicion anything.”
* * * * *
The next morning Forty-Dollar joins the thirsty circle around
Lonesome’s, and rubs his hands with satisfaction.
“She sure is salted to the queen’s taste,” he states. “Anybody seen
anything uh them rocking-chair miners today?”
Nobody had, and we don’t see ’em until evening, when they saunters into
our midst.
“Well, how’s prospecting?” asks Forty-Dollar.
“Tolable,” replies Magpie. “We’d admire to see that Golden Glow mine
tomorrow.”
“The pleasure will all be ours,” says Forty.
“Get any game?” asks Ike, offhand-like.
“Game? What game?”
“Thought I seen you packing uh shotgun today. Maybe I was mistaken.”
“Oh!” grunts Forty-Dollar. “No, I didn’t. I was after fool-hens.”
The next day we all goes up to the Golden Glow. Them two hombres insists
on taking their chair along, and one of them carries the hoe. We strings
along up to the hole in the ground. Forty-Dollar immediate and soon
makes us uh lecture on gold-bearing-formations, and hands Magpie uh pick
and shovel. Harper sets down in the chair and rolls uh smoke.
“Dig right here,” explains Forty-Dollar, pointing out the correct spot.
“It’s uh cinch you’ll find something good.”
Magpie digs out uh lot uh soft stuff and dumps it into the pan.
“Now,” states Forty, “we’ll pound it all up fine, and pan it down at the
crick. I’ll bet that pan will show more than ten thousand to the ton.”
We smashes it up fine, and packs it down to the crick. Whispering hands
the pan to Magpie, who squats down and begins to pan her out. We all
leans over him, interested-like, but Harper sets up there on the bank in
his rocking-chair, and takes life easy. If I had fifty thousand I’d do
it, too.
The dirt washes lower and lower, until only uh spoonful remains and in
it is one tiny speck uh gold.
“Pretty lean, don’t you think?” asks Magpie.
Me and Whispering and Lonesome stares at Forty-Dollar, and he stares at
the pan. Pretty soon he reaches down, takes the pan out of Magpie’s
hands and stirs the contents. He tosses it out in the crick, and
scratches his head.
“How much uh pan?” asks Harper.
“Trace,” replies Magpie; “bare trace. Not worth the wear and tear on our
rocking-chair and hoe, Ike. Let’s go back.”
Conversation is scarce on the way home. Magpie and Ike comments on the
sunset, and we don’t notice it. They goes up to their cabin and we goes
in the saloon. We sets down facing Forty-Dollar, and waits for him to
explain.
“Well,” says he, “I shot both barrels into that spot, and there ain’t
nothing there.”
“I’ll swear to the last,” agrees Whispering. “Hardly uh trace. Where is
it, Forty?”
“Seventy-two dollars is more than uh trace,” states Lonesome, sliding
his gun around to the front. “I’d admire to know about things.”
“Letting uh pair uh rocking-chair miners laugh at us,” says I,
sarcastic-like.
“It must be there!” squeaks Forty-Dollar.
“Unless,” says Lonesome, “some folks hate to put their money in the
ground.”
“Wait uh minute, Lonesome!” snaps Forty. “Don’t insinuate that I’d steal
that money. I’m honest—I am. Gosh Almighty, I’m as surprised as you
are.”
“But not so pained,” states Lonesome. “It was my money.”
“Well, it’s gone,” says Whispering. “Them two hombres were all ready to
buy, too. Did yuh notice how careless that Magpie person handles uh
gold-pan?”
“Handling uh shotgun careless is more of uh crime,” says Lonesome,
sad-like.