“I want silver bullets,” persisted Mike. “A silver bullet is the only thing that will destroy a ghost.”
“Look here, young man,” said the tinknocker, “is there anything the matter with your head, or are you talking to hear yourself?”
Mike winked gravely.
“Never mind,” he said. “You have a nice little furnace there, and here is a couple of silver dollars. Can’t you melt that money and mold me some bullets?”
“It’s against the law to destroy United States money.”
“But no one besides ourselves will know anything about it. I’ll give you five dollars to do the job for me.”
“Five dollars is an inducement. Have you got it?”
“Here it is,” said Mike, handing it over. “I’ll pay you in advance, and I’ll wait for those bullets.”
When he left he had several fresh-molded silver bullets in his pocket.
The night, in the privacy of his room, with the door securely locked, Lynch carefully loaded and capped the old pistol. Two of the silver bullets were rammed down on top of the powder.