“They did, ingrates!”
The Doctor arose and shut his office door. “Hark ye, Concho,” he said, “that bit of medicine I gave you just now was worth a dollar, it was worth a dollar because the material of which it was composed was made from the stuff you have in that can,—quicksilver or mercury. It is one of the most valuable of metals, especially in a gold-mining country. My good fellow, if you know where to find enough of it, your fortune is made.”
Concho rose to his feet.
“Tell me, was the rock you built your furnace of red?”
“Si, Senor.”
“And brown?”
“Si, Senor.”
“And crumbled under the heat?”
“As to nothing.”
“And did you see much of this red rock?”