246“Well, what do you want me to do? Get a parole and give Murray my mine?”
“No, just get a parole–and then we’ll get you a pardon. I’ll tell you, Denver, the Dutchman has begun to talk and it seems he saw your fight. He’s told several people that you never pulled your gun, just struck out at the crowd with your fists. And if hints and winks count for anything with him he knows who it was that killed Meacham. He says he was hit from behind. I’ve tried everything, Denver, to make that Dutchman talk or put something down on paper; but he’s scared so bad of Murray, and mebbe of his gun-men, that he won’t say a word, unless he’s drunk. Now here’s the proposition–old Murray has had you railroaded, and he’s sure going to squeeze you until you let go of that claim. Why not sell out for a good price, if he’ll make the Professor talk and help get you a pardon from the Governor? You know the Governor, he’ll pardon most anybody, but you’ve got to give him some excuse. Well, the Professor has got the evidence to get you out to-morrow–if Murray will just tell him to talk.”
“What d’ye call a good price?” inquired Denver suspiciously. “Did Murray put you up to this?”
“No!” snapped Bunker, “but he named ten thousand dollars as the most he could possibly give. He owns the Colonel Dodge’s interest in the Lost Burro Mining Company now.”
“Your pardner, eh?” sneered Denver. “Well, where would I get off if I took this friendly tip? I’d 247lose my mine, that’s worth a million, at least; and get ten thousand dollars and a parole. A paroled man can’t locate a claim–nor an ex-convict, neither. The Silver Treasure is the last claim that I’ll ever get; and I’m going to hold onto it, by grab!”
“You’re crazy,” declared Bunker, “didn’t I say we’d get you a pardon? Well, a pardon restores you to citizenship–you can locate all the claims you want.”
“Yes, sure; if I’m pardoned! But I know that danged Dutchman–he wouldn’t turn a hand to get me out of the Pen’ if you’d give him a hundred thousand dollars. He’s got it in for me, for not buying his claim when I took the Silver Treasure from you; and more’n that, he’s afraid of me, because if I ever get out─”
“Oh, don’t be a dammed fool all the rest of your life,” burst out Bunker Hill impatiently. “If you’d quiet down a little and quit fighting your head, maybe your friends would be able to help you. I might as well tell you that I’ve been to the Governor and told him the facts of the case; and he’s practically promised, if the Professor will come through, to give you a full pardon with citizenship. Now be reasonable, Denver, and quit trying to whip the world, and we’ll get you out of this jack-pot. Give old Murray your mine–you can never law it away from him–and take your ten thousand dollars; then move to another camp and make a fresh start where there’s nobody working against you. Of course I’m Murray’s pardner–he put one over on 248me–but at the same time I reckon I’m your friend. Now there’s the proposition and you can take it or leave it–I ain’t going to bother you again.”
“Nope, it don’t look good to me,” answered Denver promptly, “there’s too many ifs and ands. And I’ll stay here till I rot before Bible-Back Murray will ever get that mine from me. He hired that bunch of gun-men to jump my claim twice when he had no title to the mine, and then he hired Chatwourth and Slogger Meacham to get me in the door and kill me. They made a slight mistake and got the wrong man, then sent me to the Pen’ for murder. That’s the kind of a dastard you’ve got for a pardner but you can tell him I’ll never give up. I’ll fight till I die, and if I ever get out─”
“Yes, there you go again,” burst out Bunker Hill bitterly, “you ain’t got the brain of a mule. If I wasn’t to blame for loaning you that gun and leaving you out of my sight, I’d pass up your case for good. But I didn’t have no better sense than to slip you my old six-shooter, and now Mrs. Hill can’t hardly git over it so I’ll give you another try. My daughter, Drusilla, is coming home next week and she hasn’t even heard about this trouble. Now–are you going to stay here and meet her as a convict, or will you come and meet her like a gentleman. This ain’t my doin’s–I’d see you in hell, first–but Mrs. Hill says when you get out on parole we’ll be glad to receive you as our guest.”