Suddenly the door burst open with a bang, and Heine Schultz filled the little office with the roar of a behemoth:
"Oh, boy! Have you seen it? Just come in with the mail! Los Angeles papers! Here, read, man! And then get drunk! I'll help you!"
Tweet snatched the paper from him, and his steel-blue eyes bugged at the glaring headlines:
Gold! Gold! Gold! Death Valley Gives Up Another Secret. Rich Find in Little-Known Corner of Treacherous Waste. Dead Father of Picturesque Girl Called Jerkline Jo the Finder. Weird Tale of Struggles and Death and Baby Lost on Desert. Gold Hills Mining Co. Takes Over the Claims at $1,000,000. President Says Richest Discovery Since Days of '49.
"Great stutterin' Demosthenes!" exclaimed Tweet, and fell limply into a chair.
Then again the door was opened, and a boy from the post office handed Tweet a special-delivery letter. Tremblingly he tore the envelope and removed a yellow telegram. Tears sprang to his eyes as he read aloud:
"Have to-day deposited to credit of your checking account in Bluemount National Bank, Los Angeles, one hundred thousand dollars. Check against it at pleasure. Hiram and I on our way to Mendocino County for a little rest and to see old friend of his. Reach Ragtown in about two weeks if all goes well.
"JEAN PRINCE HOOKER, JERKLINE JO."
Tweet sprang from his chair, cramming on his hat.
"Lock the door and take the key, Heine!" he cried. "I'm going to Los Angeles at fifty miles an hour!"
At the same time in the shooting gallery Al Drummond and Lucy Dalles stared over the top of a newspaper at each other, their eyes tragic.