What was Wiley Holman up to? Virginia paced the floor in a very unloverlike mood; and at last she sat down and wrote a scathing letter to the assayer, demanding her assay at once. She also enclosed one dollar in advance to test the sample for gold and silver and then, as an afterthought, she enclosed another bill and told him to test it for copper, lead, and zinc. There was something in that rock–she knew it just as well as she knew that Wiley was in love with her, and this was no time to pinch dollars. For ten years and more they had stuck there in Keno, waiting and waiting for something to happen, but now things had come to such a pass that it was better to know even the worst. For if the mine was barren and Wiley, after all, was only trying in his dumb way to help, then she must pocket her pride and sell him her stock and go away and hide her head. But if the white quartz was rich–well, that would be different; there would be several things to explain. Yet, if the quartz was barren, why did Wiley offer to buy her stock, and if it was rich, why did The work at the Paymaster went on intermittently, but Blount’s early zest was lacking. For eight, yes, ten years he had waited patiently for the moment when he should get control of the mine; but now that he held it, without let or hindrance, somehow his enthusiasm flagged. Perhaps it was the fact that the timbering was expensive and that his gropings for the lost ore body came to nothing; but in the back of his mind Blount’s growing distrust dated from the day he had bought Wiley’s quit-claim. Wiley had come to the mine full of fury and aggressiveness, as his combat with Stiff Neck George clearly showed; but after he had gone down and inspected the workings he had sold out for one hundred dollars. And Wiley Holman was a mining engineer, with a name for Yankee shrewdness–he must have had a reason. Blount recalled his men from the drifts where With the railroad that had tapped the camp torn up and hauled away, every foot of timber, every stick of powder, cost twice as much as it ought. And then there was machinery, and gas and oil for the engine, and valves and spare parts for the pumps, and the board of the men, and overhead expenses–and not a single dollar coming in. Blount sat up late in his office, adding total to total, and at the end he leaned back aghast. At the very inside it was costing him two hundred dollars for every day that he operated the mine. And what was it turning back? Nothing. The mine had been gutted of every pound of ore that it would pay to sack and ship, and unless something was done to locate the lost ore body and give some guarantee of future values, well, the Paymaster There were others, of course, to whom he might appeal; but he sent for Wiley first. He was a mining engineer, he had had his eye on the property and–well, he probably knew something about the lost vein. So he sent a wire, and then a man; and at last Holman, M. E., arrived. He came under protest, for he had been showing a mine of his own to some four-buckle experts from the east, and when Blount made his appeal he snorted. “Well, for the love of Miguel!” he exclaimed, starting up. “Do you think I’m going to help you for nothing? I’m a mining engineer, and the least it will cost you is five hundred dollars for a report. No, I don’t think anything; and I don’t know anything; and I won’t take your mine on shares. I’m through–do you get me? I sold out my entire interest for one hundred dollars, cash. That puts me ahead of the game, up to date; and while I’m lucky I’ll quit.” He stamped out of the office–Blount having moved into the bank building where he had formerly officiated as president–and made a break for his machine; but other eyes had marked his arrival in town and Death Valley Charley button-holed him. “Say,” he said, “do you want something good–an option on ten first-class claims? Well, come with me; I’ll make you an offer that you can’t hardly, possibly refuse.” “Now, listen,” he went on, when Wiley was in a chair and he had carefully fastened the door, “I’m going to show you something good.” He reached under his bed and brought out ten sacks of samples which he spread, one by one, on the table. “Now, you see?” he said. “It’s all that white quartz that you was after on the Paymaster dump. I followed the outcrop, on an extension of the Paymaster, and I took up ten, good, opened claims.” “Umm,” murmured Wiley, and examined each sample with a careful, appraising eye. “Yes, pretty good, Charley; I suppose you guarantee the title? Well, how much do you want for your claims?” “Oh, whatever you say,” answered Charley modestly, “but I want two hundred dollars down.” “And about a million apiece, I suppose, for the claims? It doesn’t cost meanything, you know, on an option.” “Eh, heh, heh,” laughed Charley indulgently and Heine, who had been looking from face to face, jumped up and barked with delight. “Eh, heh; yes, that’s good; but you know me, Mr. Holman–I ain’t so crazy as they think. No, I don’t talk millions with my mouth full of beans; all I want is five hundred apiece. But I got to have two hundred down.” “Oh,” observed Wiley, “that’s two dollars for “Yes, yes,” he said, “then I wouldbe crazy. Do you know what the Colonel told me? “‘Charley,’ he says, ‘whatever you do, don’t marry no talking woman. She’ll drive you crazy, the same as I am; but don’t you forget that whiskey.’” “Oh, sure,” exclaimed Wiley, beginning to write out the option, “this money is to buy whiskey for the Colonel!” “That’s it,” answered Charley. “He’s over across Death Valley–in the Ube-Hebes–but I can’t find my burros. They–Heine, come here, sir!” Heine came up cringing and Charley slapped him soundly. “Shut up!” he commanded and as Heine crept away Death Valley began to mutter to himself. “No, of course not; he’s dead,” he ended ineffectively, and Wiley looked up from his writing. “Who’s dead?” he inquired, but Charley shook his head and listened through the wall. “Look out,” he said, “I can hear her coming–jest give me that two hundred now.” “Well, here’s twenty,” replied Wiley, passing over the money, and then there came a knock at the door. “Come in!” called out Charley and, as he motioned Wiley to be silent, Virginia appeared in the doorway. “Just a matter of business,” he explained with a flourish, “I’m considering an option on some of Charley’s claims.” “Jest my bum claims!” mumbled Charley as Virginia glanced at him reprovingly. “Jest them ten up north of the Paymaster.” “Oh,” she said and drew back towards the door, “well, don’t let me break up a trade.” “You’d better sign as a witness,” spoke up Wiley imperturbably, and she stepped over and looked at the paper. “What? All ten of those claims for five hundred apiece? Why, Charley, they may be worth millions!” “Well, put it down five million, then,” suggested Wiley, grimly. “How much do you want for them, Charley?” “Five hundred dollars apiece,” answered Charley promptly, “but they’s got to be two hundred down.” “Well?” inquired Wiley as Virginia still regarded him suspiciously, and then he beckoned her outside. “Say, what’s the matter?” he asked reproachfully. “Let the old boy make his touch–he wants that two hundred for grub.” “He does not!” she spat back. “I’m ashamed of you, Wiley Holman; taking advantage of a crazy man like that!” “You have!” she cried, starting back and staring as he regarded her with steely eyes. “Well, are you going to take it?” “I don’t know,” he answered. “Thought I’d better see you first–it might be taking advantage of Blount.” “Of Blount!” she echoed and then she saw his smile and realized that he was making fun of her. “Yes,” went on Wiley, whose feelings had been ruffled, “he may be crazy, too. He sure was looking the part.” “Now don’t you laugh at me!” she burst out hotly. “This isn’t as funny as you think. What’s going to happen to us if you take over that mine? I declare, you’ve been standing in with Blount!” “I knew it,” he mocked. “You catch me every time. But what about Charley here–does he get his money or not?” He turned to Death Valley, who was standing in the doorway watching their quarrel with startled eyes. “I guess you’re right, Charley,” he added, smiling wryly. “It must be something in the air.” “Are you going to take that offer,” demanded Virginia, wrathfully, “and rob me and mother of our mine?” “You knew nothing of the kind!” she came back sharply, the angry tears starting in her eyes. “And I don’t believe he ever made it.” “Well, ask him,” suggested Wiley, and went back into the house, whereupon Death Valley closed the door. “Yes,” whispered Charley, “it’s in the air–there’s electricity everywhere. But what about that option?” Wiley sat at the table, his eyes big with anger, his jaw set hard against the pain, and then he reached for his pen. “All right, Charley,” he said, “but don’t you let ’em kid you–you’ve got the best business head in town.” |