"My mine."
"How much more you got?"
L. W. asked it suspiciously, but the gold-gleam had gone to his heart.
"About two tons of the best, scattered around on the different dumps, and a whole scad more that will ship. I knew you wouldn't lend on anything but gold-ore and I need money to pay off my Mexicans. I've got to save some ore bags to sack that picked rock in, and hire freighters to haul it in. Then there's the freight and the milling and with one thing and another I need about two thousand dollars."
"Oh! Two thousand dollars. Seems to me," observed L. W., "I've heard that sum mentioned before."
"You have, dad-burn ye, and this time I want it. What's the matter, ain't that ore good for it all?"
"It is, if you've got it, but I've come to the point where I don't place absolute confidence in your word."
"Oh, the hell you have!" said Rimrock sarcastically, "that sounds like some lawyer talk. You might've learned it from Apex McBain when you was associated with him in a deal. I won't say what deal, but, refreshing your memory now, ain't my word as good as yours?"
He gazed intently at the hard-visaged L. W. whose face slowly turned brick red.
"Now to get down to business," went on Rimrock quietly, "I tell you that ore is there. If you'll loan me the money to haul in that rock I'll pay you back from my check. And I'll give you my note at one per cent. a month, compounded monthly and all that. I guess a man that can show title to twenty claims that turn out picked ore like that—well, he's entitled, perhaps, to a little more consideration than you boys have been showing me of late."