He was as good as his word. In ten minutes he returned with six original locaters, a board of directors, a president, secretary, and a deed of incorporation of the 'Blue Mass Quicksilver Mining Co.' This latter was a delicate compliment to the Doctor, who was popular. The President added to these necessary articles a revolver.
“Take it,” he said, handing over the weapon to Concho. “Take it; my horse is outside; take that, ride like h—l and hang on to the claim until we come!”
In another moment Concho was in the saddle. Then the mining director lapsed into the physician.
“I hardly know,” said Dr. Guild, doubtfully, “if in your present condition you ought to travel. You have just taken a powerful medicine,” and the Doctor looked hypocritically concerned.
“Ah,—the devil!” laughed Concho, “what is the quicksilver that is IN to that which is OUT? Hoopa, la Mula!” and, with a clatter of hoofs and jingle of spurs, was presently lost in the darkness.
“You were none too soon, gentlemen,” said the American Alcalde, as he drew up before the Doctor's door. “Another company has just been incorporated for the same location, I reckon.”
“Who are they?”
“Three Mexicans,—Pedro, Manuel, and Miguel, headed by that d——d cock-eyed Sydney Duck, Wiles.”
“Are they here?”
“Manuel and Miguel, only. The others are over at Tres Pinos lally-gaging Roscommon and trying to rope him in to pay off their whisky bills at his grocery.”