"Goot. It is a deal zen."
"Yes, if I may keep the pinto. I want a pony to pack my tools and blankets on."
"Tools. Vot! you go prospecting, eh?"
"Yes. I think so."
"Ach so! By and by you strike it rich. Then you bring your dust to old Ben—eh, colonel?"
"Maybe. But where are those dollars?"
"How vill you have them, colonel,—in notes or dust?" asked the Jew.
"In dust, of course; those flimsy things would wear out before I could get them down the Frazer. Besides, I've heard that your notes aren't always just like other people's, Ben;" and the colonel pushed over a little pile of dirty "greenbacks."
"Ach, these are goot notes; but the gold is goot too, Colonel. Vill you veigh it?"
"You bet I will," replied the colonel, making no parade of confidence in his friend. There was good gold in old Ben's safe, but the tenderfoot who did not know good gold from bad often got "dust" of the wrong kind. This Cruickshank knew, so that he was careful to examine the quality of the dust in the two small canvas bags, and careful, too, in the weighing of them—trying the scales, and leaving no hole open for fraud to creep through.