"You're drunk!" retorted Lockhart, looking back over his shoulder, and Rimrock jumped to his feet.
"I'll show you!" he cried, starting angrily after him, and L. W. turned swiftly to meet him.
"You'll show me what?" he demanded coldly as Rimrock put his hand to his gun.
"Never mind!" answered Rimrock. "You know you jobbed me. I let you in on a good thing and you sold me out to McBain. I want some money and if you don't give it to me I'll—I'll go over and collect from him."
"Oh, you want some money, hey?" repeated Lockhart. "I thought you was going to show me something!"
The banker scowled as he rolled his cigar, but there was a twinkle far back in his eyes. "You're bad now, ain't you?" he continued tauntingly. "You're just feeling awful! You're going to jump on Lon Lockhart and stomp him into the ground! Huh!"
"Aw, shut your mouth!" answered Rimrock defiantly, "I never said a word about fight."
"Uhhr!" grunted L. W. and put his hand in his pocket at which Rimrock became suddenly expectant.
"Henry Jones," began the banker, "I knowed your father and he was an honorable, hardworking man. You're nothing but a bum and you're getting worse—why don't you go and put up that gun?"
"I don't have to!" retorted Rimrock but he moved up closer and there was a wheedling turn to his voice. "Just two thousand dollars, Lon—that's all I ask of you—and I'll give you a share in my mine. Didn't I come to you first, when I discovered the Gunsight, and give you the very best claim? And you ditched me, L. W., dad-burn you, you know it; you sold me out to McBain. But I've got something now that runs up into millions! All it needs is a little more work!"