"There is no harm in that. I'll do it. And if I can find anything to go on, I'll undertake to follow up those fellows. Perhaps I can find out something at Nevada City. I reckon I'll have to let you look out for Mrs. Keeler and the boy, as you say."
"I'm mighty glad to hear you say that. And I'll make out a check right now. Smith, the livery man at Eureka South, will cash it; and you can take the stage out to-morrow morning."
"All right. I reckon we'd better not lose any time."
Palmer had already got out pen and ink. It was something of a "chore" for the old man to draw a check. Miners' paralysis was creeping on, and two years later the best he could do was to make his mark. But to-day he prolonged his labors, making out a second check, to be cashed when Keeler reached San Francisco.
The business was hardly transacted when Henry Francis walked in.
"Glad to see you, Francis!" exclaimed the old man. "What news from Moore's Flat?" He exchanged glances with Keeler which seemed to mean that their business should be regarded as strictly private, although Henry Francis was the friend of both, and had won the confidence and affection of old man Palmer. Francis and Palmer held the same political faith. The former came of a distinguished Democratic family, so that the old man's protection and loyalty had been bestowed upon him upon his arrival in the gold fields twenty years before. Furthermore, the old man had proved the unfailing honesty of the younger man. Jew bankers, in blowing dirt and impurities from gold dust offered for sale, were not over-careful about blowing away gold dust, too, which would be caught on buckskin placed out of sight behind the counter. Palmer's dust was very fine, and more than once he had suffered through such sharp practice, only to vow he never would suffer so again. In Francis he had found a strictly honest banker, whose virtue he was inclined to attribute to correct political principles, overlooking the moral delinquencies of other Democratic neighbors. But the old man, through long years of experience with human nature in California, had grown extremely cautious and secretive. Probably no one would ever have been the wiser in regard to his old sweetheart and her sad history except for the escape of Cummins' murderers. And now it was not necessary that any man other than Keeler should know.
"Glad to see you, Francis. What news from Moore's Flat?"
Francis looked grave. "I suppose Keeler has told you all I know. Seven days gone and nothing heard of the robbers. I shall expect a telegram to-morrow or next day, telling of Will Cummins' burial in the village cemetery at home. And his old father and mother are going to be denied the small comfort of knowing that the murderers have been caught.
"Keeler, you were Cummins' partner once. Do you have any idea who the robbers were?"
"I am sorry to say, I don't. This country is full of bad men. I have thought of the blacklegs along Kanaka Creek. A robbery in Jackass Ravine was traced to that gang. But the rascals stand together, and are ready to defend a partner with alibis or pistols."