JIM FERRERS, PARTNER
"You mean it, do you?" asked Hazelton, after a pause of a few moments.
"I never meant anything more in my life!"
"Then, of course, I'll agree to it, Tom. If I go astray, it'll be
the first time that I ever went wrong through following your advice."
"And you're with us, Ferrers?" inquired Tom, looking around.
"Gentlemen," spoke the guide feelingly, "after the way you've
used me, and the way you've talked to me, I'm with you in anything,
and I can wait a month, any time, to find out what that 'anything'
means. Just give me your orders."
"Orders are not given to partners," Tom told him.
"Orders go with _this_ partner," Jim asserted gravely. "And,
gentlemen, if we make any money, just hand me what you call my
share and I'll never ask any questions."
"Jim, we're going in for mining," Tom continued. "I can speak
for Mr. Hazelton now, for he has authorized me to do so. Mining
it is, Jim, but we three are young and tender, and not expert
with pickaxes. We'd better have some experts. Can you pick up
at least six real miners at Dugout City?"
"A feller usually can," Ferrers replied.
"Then if you'll put in a good part of tonight riding, tomorrow
you can do your best to pick up the men. Get the kind, Jim, who
don't balk at bullets when they have to face 'em, for we've a
hornets' nest over yonder. Get sober, level-headed fellows who
know how to fight---men of good judgment and nerve. Pay 'em what's
right. You know the state of wages around here. While you're
at Dugout, Jim, pick out a two-mule team and a good, dependable
wagon for carting supplies. Put all the chuck aboard that you
think we'll need for the next two or three weeks. I'll give you,
also, a list of digging tools and some of the explosives that
we'll need in shaft sinking. While you're in Dugout, Jim, pick
up two good ponies, with saddles and bridles. I guess I'd better
write down some of these instructions, hadn't I?"
"And write down the street corner where I'm to pick up the money,
Mr. Reade," begged Ferrers dryly. "You can't do much in the credit
line in Nevada."
"The street corner where you're to find the money, eh, Jim?" smiled
Tom. "Yes; I believe I can do that, too. You know the map of
Dugout, don't you?"
"'Course."
"You know where to find the corner of Palace Avenue and Mission
Street?"
"Sure."
"On one of those four corners," Tom continued, "you'll find the
Dugout City Bank."
"I've seen the place," nodded Ferrers, "but I never had any money
in it."
"You will have, one of these days," smiled Tom, taking out a fountain
pen and shaking it. Next he drew a small, oblong book from an
inside pocket, and commenced writing on one of the pages. This
page he tore out and handed Ferrers.
"What's this?" queried the guide.
"That's an order on the Dugout City Bank to hand you one thousand
dollars."
Ferrers stared at the piece of paper incredulously.
"What'll the feller pay me in?" he demanded. "Lead at twelve cents
a pound? And say, will he hand me the lead out of an automatic gun?"
"If the paying teller serves you that way," rejoined Reade, "you'll
have a right to feel peevish about it. But he won't. Hazelton
and I have the money in bank to stand behind that check."
"You have?" inquired Ferrers, opening his eyes wide. "Fellers
at your age have that much money in banks"
"And more, too," Tom nodded. "Did you think, Jim, that we had
never earned any money?"
"Well, I didn't know that you probably made more'n eighteen or
twenty dollars a week," Ferrers declared.
"We've made slightly more than that, with two good railroad jobs
behind us," Tom laughed. "And here's our firm pass-book at the
bank, Jim. You'll see by it that we have a good deal more than
a thousand dollars there. Now, you draw the thousand that the
check calls for. When you're through you may have some money
left. If you do, turn the money in at the bank, have it entered
on the pass-book and then bring the book to me."
"I'll have to think this over," muttered Ferrers, "and you'd better
set down most of it in writing so that I won't forget."
The smoke from the cook fire brought Alf Drew in from hiding, his
finger-tips stained brown as usual.
"Now, see here, young man," said Tom gravely, "there is no objection
to your taking some of your time off with your 'makings,' but
Ferrers is going away, and you must stay around more for the next
two or three days. Otherwise, there won't be any meals or any
payday coming to you."
"Is Mr. Ferrers going to Dugout City?" asked Alf, with sudden
interest.
"Yes."
"Say, I'll work mighty hard if you'll advance me fifty cents and
let me get an errand done by Mr. Ferrers."
"Here's the money," smiled Tom, passing over the half dollar.
Alf was in such haste that he forgot to express his thanks. Racing
over to Jim the little fellow said something in a very low voice.
"No; I won't!" roared Ferrers. "Nothing of the sort!"
"Does he want you to get the 'makings,' Jim!" called Tom.
"Yes; but I won't do it," the guide retorted.
"Please do," asked Tom.
"What? _You_ ask me to do it, sir? Then all right. I will."
"What do you want to do that for?" murmured Harry.
"Let the poor little runt have his 'makings,' if he wants," Tom
proposed. "But I don't believe that Alf will smoke the little white
pests very much longer."
"You're going to stop him?"
"I'm going to make him want to stop it himself," Tom rejoined,
with a slight grin.
Alf came back, looking much pleased.
"Let me feel your pulse," requested Reade. "Now, let me see your
tongue."
This much accomplished, Tom next turned down the under lid of
one of young Drew's eyes and gazed at the lack of red there displayed.
"I see," remarked Reade gravely, "that your nerves are going all
to pieces."
"I feel fine," asserted Alf stolidly.
"You must, with your nerves in the state I now find them," retorted
the young engineer. "Next thing I know you'll be hearing things."
Click-ick-ick!
"Wow-ow-wow!" shrieked Alf Drew, bounding some ten feet away from the
low bush near which he had been standing.
Click-ick-ick-ick!
"Get away from that bush, Mr. Reade!" howled the young cigarette
fiend. "That rattler will bite you, if you don't."
"I didn't hear any rattler," said Tom gravely. "Did you, Harry?"
"Not a rattle," said Hazelton soberly.
Jim Ferrers looked on and grinned behind Alf's back. The youngster
was trembling. As Tom came near him the "rattle" sounded again.
Within five minutes two more warning "rattles" had been heard near
the boy.
"The camp must be full of 'em," wailed the terrified boy. "And
I'm afraid of rattlers."
"So am I, Alf," Tom assured him, "but I haven't heard one of the
reptiles. The trouble is with your nerves, Drew. And your nerves
are in league with your brain. If you go on smoking cigarettes
you won't have any brain. Or, if you do, it will be one that
will have you howling with fear all the time. Why don't you drop
the miserable things when you find they're driving you out of
your heads"
"Perh-h-h-haps I will," muttered the boy.
After an early supper, Jim Ferrers rode away. He offered to leave
his rifle in camp, but Tom protested.
"I'd feel responsible for the thing if you left it here, you know,
Jim. And I don't want to have to keep toting it around all the
time you're away."
"But suppose Dolph Gage and his crew come over here, and you're
not armed?"
"Then I'll own up that we haven't anything to shoot with, and
ask him to call again," Tom laughed. "But don't be afraid, Jim.
Gage and his crew will be anxious, for the next few days, to
see whether they can coax us into serving them. They need an
engineer over at their stolen claim, and they know it."
So Ferrers rode away, carrying his rifle across his saddle.
Alf spent an evening of terror, for the ground around the camp
appeared to be full of "rattlers".