In a very few moments the expert explained to the young lady that a claim located in ’90 upon which no assessment work was done in ’91, was open for relocation in ’92.
That was exactly what she wanted to know, she said, as she shot out of the door and across the street to the telegraph office.
Before we had time to ask each other what she meant, a half dozen citizens walked through the open door.
“We have just returned from Wason, where we went with Ketchum,” said the leader.
“His game is dead crooked, and we told him to duck, and we want to ask about his typewriter, an’ see ’f she’s got any dough.”
I explained that Miss Parsons was across the street, working in the telegraph office.
“Miss Parsons,” said the leader as he entered the office, “we have just escorted your employer out of camp, and I reckon we put you out of a job; we want to square ourselves with you.”
“Oh, I’m all right,” she said, glad to know that they hadn’t hanged the poor devil. “I am working half time at the restaurant and until midnight here.”
Without saying a word, the leader held out his hand to one of the men who dropped a yellow coin into it, another did the same, and before she knew what it meant, the spokesman stacked seven tens upon her table, said good-night, and they left the room.