"Yes, and forty miles of railroad," put in L. W. intolerantly. "I wouldn't take the whole works for a gift!"
"No, but Lon, I'm lucky—you know that yourself—I can go East and sell the old mine."
"Oh, you're lucky, are you?" interrupted L. W. "Well, how come then that you're standing here, broke? But here, I've got business, I'll give you ten dollars—and remember, it's the last that you get!"
He drew out a bill, but Rimrock stood looking at him with a slow and contemptuous smile.
"Yes, you doggoned old screw," he answered ungraciously, "what good will ten dollars do?"
"You can get just as drunk on that," replied L. W. pointedly, "as you could on a hundred thousand!"
A change came over Rimrock's face, the swift mirroring of some great idea, and he reached out and grabbed the money.
"Where you going?" demanded L. W. as he started across the street.
"None of your business," answered Rimrock curtly, but he headed straight for the Mint.