“No, I don’t acknowledge nothing!” insisted Wunpost stubbornly, “and you’ve got to put the money in my hand. How about fifty thousand dollars and make it all cash, and I’ll agree to get out of town.”
“No-o, I haven’t that much on hand at this time,” observed Judson Eells, frowning thoughtfully. “I might give you a draft on Los Angeles.”
“No–cash!” challenged Wunpost, “how much have you got? Count it over and make me an offer–I want to get out of this town.” He muttered uneasily and paced up and down while Judson Eells, with ponderous surety, opened up the chilled steel vault. He ran through bundles and neat packages, totting up as he went, and then with a face as frozen as a stone he came out with the currency in his hands.
“I’ve got twenty thousand dollars that I suppose I can spare,” he began as he spread out the money, but Wunpost cut him short.
“I’ll take it,” he said, “and you can have the Stinging Lizard–but my word’s all the quit claim you get!”
He stuffed the money into his pockets without 113stopping to count it, more like a burglar than a seller of mines, and that night while the town gathered to gaze on in wonder he took the stage for Los Angeles. No one shouted good-by and he did not look back, but as they pulled out of Blackwater he smiled.
114CHAPTER XII
BACK HOME
The dry heat of July gave way to the muggy heat of August and as the September storms began to gather along the summits Wunpost Calhoun returned to his own. It was his own country, after all, this land of desert spaces and jagged mountains reared up again the sky; and he came back in style, riding a big, round-bellied mule and leading another one packed. He had a rifle under his knee, a pistol on his hip and a pair of field glasses in a case on the horn; and he rode in on a trot, looking about with a knowing smile that changed suddenly to a smirk of triumph.
“Well, well!” he exclaimed as he saw Eells emerge from the bank, “how’s the mine, Mr. Eells; how’s the mine?”