“Search me,” grumbled Bunker, “I got his thousand dollars, and that’s about all I know.”
“He was up here to see me the same day you left, with a whole load of six-buckle experts; and say, he offered me a check for ten thousand dollars if I’d sell him the Silver Treasure claim. And when I refused it he got into his machine and went right over to Murray’s. I’ll bet you you’re sold out to Bible-Back.”
“Well, he’s stuck then,” said Bunker. “I guess you haven’t heard the news–Murray’s closed down his camp for good.”
“He has!” exclaimed Denver, and then he laughed heartily. “He’s a foxy old dastard, isn’t he?”
“You said it,” returned Bunker. “Never did have 218any ore. Just pretended he had in order to sell stock and recoup what he’d lost on the drilling. They’re offering the stock for nothing.”
“Who’s offering it?” demanded Denver suddenly taking the matter seriously. “I’ll bet you it’s nothing but a fake!”
“All right,” shrugged Bunker, “but I met a bunch of miners and they were swapping stock for matches. Old Tom Buchanan down at Desert Wells won’t accept it at any price–that shows how much it’s a fake.”
“Aw, he pulled that once before,” answered Denver contemptuously, “but he don’t fool me again. Like as not he’s made a strike and is just shutting down so he can buy back the stock he sold.”
Bunker looked up and grunted, then gathered together his purchases and ambled off towards the house.
“That’s all you think about, ain’t it?” he said at parting. “I’ll mention it when I write to Drusilla.”