In a certain stratum of society, now about to become extinct, it is considered quite au fait to roll a drunk if circumstances will permit. And it was from this particular stratum that the barkeeper at The Mint had derived his moral concepts. Therefore he considered it no crime, no betrayal of a trust, to borrow the thousand dollars with which he was to pay John C. Calhoun from that prince of opportunists, Judson Eells. It is not every banker that will thrust a thousand dollar bill–and the only one he has on hand–upon a member of the bungstarters’ brotherhood; but a word in his ear from Pisen-face Lynch convinced Fellowes that it would be well to run straight. Fate had snatched him from behind the bar to carry out a part not unconnected with certain schemes of Judson Eells and any tendency to run out on his trusting backers would be visited with summary punishment. At least that was what he gathered in the brief moment they had together before Lynch gave him the money and disappeared.

As for John C. Calhoun, a close student of inebriety 103might have noticed that he became sober too quick; but he invested their departure in such a wealth of mystery that the barkeeper was more than satisfied. A short ways out of town Wunpost turned out into the rocks and milled around for an hour; and then, when their trail was hopelessly lost, he led the way into the hills. Being a stranger in the country Fellowes could not say what wash it was, but they passed up some wash and from that into another one; and so on until he was lost; and the most he could do was to drop a few white beans from the pocketful that Lynch had provided. The night was very dark and they rode on interminably, camping at dawn in a shut-in canyon; and so on for three nights until his mind became a blank as far as direction was concerned. His liberal supply of beans had been exhausted the first night and since then they had passed over a hundred rocky hog-backs and down a thousand boulder-strewn canyons. As to the whereabouts of Blackwater he had no more idea than a cat that has been carried in a bag; and he lacked that intimate sense of direction which often enables the cat to come back. He was lost, and a little scared, when Wunpost stopped in a gulch and showed him a neat pile of rocks.

“There’s my monument,” he said, “ain’t that a neat piece of work? I learned how to make them from a surveyor. This tobacco can here contains my notice of location–that was a steer when I said it wasn’t staked. Git down and help yourself!”

He assisted his companion, who was slightly 104saddle-sore, to alight and inspect the monument and then he waited expectantly.

“Oh, the mine! The mine!” cried Wunpost gaily. “Come along–have you got your sack? Well, bring along a sack and we’ll fill it so full of gold it’ll bust and spill out going home. Be a nice way to mark the trail, if you should want to come back sometime–and by the way, have you got that thousand dollar bill?”

“Yes, I’ve got it,” whined the barkeeper, “but where’s your cussed mine? This don’t look like nothing to me!”

“No, that’s it,” expounded Wunpost, “you haven’t got my system–they’s no use for you to turn prospector. Now look in this crack–notice that stuff up and down there? Well, now, that’s where I’d look to find gold.”

“Jee-rusalem!” exclaimed the barkeeper, or words to that effect, and dropped down to dig out the rock. It was the very same ore that Wunpost had shown when he had entered The Mint at Blackwater, only some of it was actually richer than any of the pieces he had seen. And there was a six-inch streak of it, running down into the country-rock as if it were going to China. He dug and dug again while Wunpost, all unmindful, unpacked and cooked a good meal. Fellowes filled his small sack and all his pockets and wrapped up the rest in his handkerchief; and before they packed to go he borrowed the dish-towel and went back for a last hoard of gold. It was there for the taking, and he could 105have all he wanted as long as he turned over the thousand dollar bill. Wunpost was insistent upon this and as they prepared to start he accepted it as payment in full.

“That’s my idea of money!” he exclaimed admiringly as he smoothed the silken note across his knee. “A thousand dollar bill, and you could hide it inside your ear–say, wait till I pull that in Los! I’ll walk up to the bar in my old, raggedy clothes and if the barkeep makes any cracks about paying in advance I’ll just drop that down on the mahogany. That’ll learn him, by grab, to keep a civil tongue in his head and to say Mister when he’s speaking to a gentleman.”

He grinned at the Judas that he had taken to his bosom but Fellowes did not respond. He was haunted by a fear that the simple-minded Wunpost might ask him where he got that big bill, since it is rather out of the ordinary for even a barkeeper to have that much money in his clothes; but the simple-minded Wunpost was playing a game of his own and he asked no embarrassing questions. It was taken for granted that they were both gentlemen of integrity, each playing his own system to win, and the barkeeper’s nervous fear that the joker would pop up somewhere found no justification in fact. He had his gold, all he could carry of it, and Wunpost had his thousand dollar bill, and now nothing remained to hope for but a quick trip home and a speedy deliverance from his misery.

“Say, for cripes’ sake,” he wailed, “ain’t they 106any short-cut home? I’m so lame I can hardly walk.”

“Well, there is,” admitted Wunpost, “I could have you home by morning. But you might take to dropping that gold, like you did them Boston beans, and I’d come back to find my mine jumped.”

“Oh, I won’t drop no gold!” protested Fellowes earnestly, “and them beans was just for a joke. Always read about it, you know, in these here lost treasure stories; but shucks, I didn’t mean no harm!”

“No,” nodded Wunpost, “if I’d thought you did I’d have ditched you, back there in the rocks. But I’ll tell you what I will do–you let me keep you blindfolded and I’ll get you out of here quick.”

“You’re on!” agreed Fellowes and Wunpost whipped out his handkerchief and bound it across his whole face. They rode on interminably, but it was always down hill and the sagacious Mr. Fellowes even noted a deep gorge through which water was rushing in a torrent. Shortly after they passed through it he heard a rooster crow and caught the fragrance of hay and not long after that they were out on the level where he could smell the rank odor of the creosote. Just at daylight they rode into Blackwater from the south, for Wunpost was still playing the game, and half an hour later every prospector was out, ostensibly hunting for his burros. But Wunpost’s work was done, he turned his animals into the corral and retired for some much-needed 107sleep; and when he awoke the barkeeper was gone, along with everybody else in town.

The stampede was to the north and then up Jail Canyon, where there was the only hay ranch for miles; and then up the gorge and on almost to Panamint, where the tracks turned off up Woodpecker Canyon. They were back-tracking of course, for the tracks really came down it, but before the sun had set Wunpost’s monument was discovered, together with the vein of gold. It was astounding, incredible, after all his early efforts, that he should let them back-track him to his mine; but that was what he had done and Pisen-face Lynch was not slow to take possession of the treasure. There was no looting of the paystreak as there had been at the Willie Meena, a guard was put over it forthwith; and after he had taken a few samples from the vein Lynch returned on the gallop to Blackwater.

The great question now with Eells was how Wunpost would take it, but after hearing from his scouts that the prospector was calm he summoned him to his office. It seemed too good to be true, but so it had seemed before when Calhoun had given up the Wunpost and the Willie Meena; and when Lynch brought him in Eells was more than pleased to see that his victim was almost smiling.

“Well, followed me up again, eh?” he observed sententiously, and Eells inclined his head.

“Yes,” he said, “Mr. Lynch followed your trail 108and–well, we have already taken possession of the mine.”

“Under the contract?” inquired Wunpost and when Eells assented Wunpost shut his lips down grimly. “Good!” he said, “now I’ve got you where I want you. We’re partners, ain’t that it, under our contract? And you don’t give a whoop for justice or nothing as long as you get it all! Well, you’ll get it, Mr. Eells–do you recognize this thousand dollar bill? That was given to me by a barkeep named Fellowes, but of course he received it from you. I knowed where he got it, and I knowed what he was up to–I ain’t quite as easy as I look–and now I’m going to take it and give it to a lawyer, and start in to get my rights. Yes, I’ve got some rights, too–never thought of that, did ye–and I’m going to demand ’em all! I’m going to go to this lawyer and put this bill in his hand and tell him to git me my rights! Not part of ’em, not nine tenths of ’em–I want ’em all–and by grab, I’m going to get’em!”

He struck the mahogany table a resounding whack and Eells jumped and glanced warningly at Lynch.

“I’m going to call for a receiver, or whatever you call him, to look after my interests at the mine; and if the judge won’t appoint him I’m going to have you summoned to bring the Wunpost books into court. And I’m going to prove by those books that you robbed me of my interest and never made any proper accounting; and then, by grab, he’ll have to appoint him, and I’ll get all that’s coming to me, 109 and you’ll get what’s coming to you. You’ll be shown up for what you are, a low-down, sneaking thief that would steal the pennies from a blind man; you’ll be showed up right, you and your sure-thing contract, and you’ll get a little publicity! I’ll just give this to the press, along with some four-bit cigars and the drinks all around for the boys, and we’ll just see where you stand when you get your next rating from Bradstreet–I’ll put your tin-front bank on the bum! And then I’ll say to my lawyer, and he’s a slippery son-of-a-goat: ‘Go to it and see how much you can get–and for every dollar you collect, by hook, crook or book, I’ll give you back a half of it! Sue Eells for an accounting every time he ships a brick–make him pay back what he stole on the Wunpost–give him fits over the Willie Meena–and if a half ain’t enough, send him broke and you can have it all! Do you reckon I’ll get some results?”

He asked this last softly, bowing his bristling head to where he could look Judson Eells in the eye, and the oppressor of the poor took counsel. Undoubtedly he would get certain results, some of which were very unpleasant to contemplate, but behind it all he felt something yet to come, some counter-proposal involving peace. For no man starts out by laying his cards on the table unless he has an ace in the hole–or unless he is running a bluff. And he knew, and Wunpost knew, that the thing which irked him most was that sure-fire Prospector’s Contract. There Eells had the high card and if he 110 played his hand well he might tame this impassioned young orator. His lawyer was not yet retained, none of the suits had been brought, and perhaps they never would be brought. Yet undoubtedly Wunpost had consulted some attorney.

“Why–yes,” admitted Eells, “I’m quite sure you’d get results–but whether they would be the results you anticipate is quite another question. I have a lawyer of my own, quite a competent man and one in whom I can trust, and if it comes to a suit there’s one thing you can’t break and that is your Prospector’s Contract.”

He paused and over Wunpost’s scowling face there flashed a twinge that betrayed him–Judson Eells had read his inner thought.

“Well, anyhow,” he blustered, “I’ll deal you so much misery-”

“Not necessary, not necessary,” put in Judson Eells mildly, “I’m willing to meet you half way. What is it you want now, and if it’s anything reasonable I’ll be glad to consider a settlement. Litigation is expensive–it takes time and it takes money–and I’m willing to do what is right.”

“Well, gimme back that contract!” blurted out Wunpost desperately, “and you can keep your doggoned mine. But if you don’t by grab I’ll fight you!”

“No, I can’t do that,” replied Eells regretfully, “and I’ll tell you, Mr. Calhoun, why. You’re just one of forty-odd men that have signed those Prospector’s 111Contracts, and there’s a certain principle involved. I paid out thirty thousand dollars before I got back a nickel and I can’t afford to establish a precedent. If I let you buy out, they will all want to buy out–that is, if they’ve happened to find a mine–and the result will be that there’ll be trouble and litigation every time I claim my rights. When you were wasting my grubstake I never said a word, because that, in a way, was your privilege; and now that, for some reason, you are stumbling onto mines, you ought to recognize my rights. It is a part of my policy, as laid down from the first, under no circumstances to ever release anybody; otherwise some dishonest prospector might be tempted to conceal his find in the hope of getting title to it later. But now about this mine, which you have named The Stinging Lizard–what would be your top price for cash?”

“I want that contract,” returned Wunpost doggedly but Judson Eells shook his head.

“How about ten thousand dollars?” suggested Eells at last, “for a quit-claim on the Stinging Lizard Mine?”

“Nothing doing!” flashed back Wunpost, “I don’t sign no quit-claim–nor no other paper, for that matter. You might have it treated with invisible ink, or write something else in, up above. But–aw cripes, dang these lawyers, I don’t want to monkey around–gimme a hundred thousand dollars and she’s yours.”

112“The Stinging Lizard?” inquired Eells and wrote it absently on his blotter at which Wunpost began to sweat.

“I don’t sign nothing!” he reminded him, and Eells smiled indulgently.

“Very well, you can acknowledge it before witnesses.”

“No, I don’t acknowledge nothing!” insisted Wunpost stubbornly, “and you’ve got to put the money in my hand. How about fifty thousand dollars and make it all cash, and I’ll agree to get out of town.”

“No-o, I haven’t that much on hand at this time,” observed Judson Eells, frowning thoughtfully. “I might give you a draft on Los Angeles.”

“No–cash!” challenged Wunpost, “how much have you got? Count it over and make me an offer–I want to get out of this town.” He muttered uneasily and paced up and down while Judson Eells, with ponderous surety, opened up the chilled steel vault. He ran through bundles and neat packages, totting up as he went, and then with a face as frozen as a stone he came out with the currency in his hands.

“I’ve got twenty thousand dollars that I suppose I can spare,” he began as he spread out the money, but Wunpost cut him short.

“I’ll take it,” he said, “and you can have the Stinging Lizard–but my word’s all the quit claim you get!”

He stuffed the money into his pockets without 113stopping to count it, more like a burglar than a seller of mines, and that night while the town gathered to gaze on in wonder he took the stage for Los Angeles. No one shouted good-by and he did not look back, but as they pulled out of Blackwater he smiled.