“You have such a funny way of talking,” she said at last, “and besides–would you mind letting me look at it?”
“I sure would!” replied Wunpost; “you leave them sacks alone. And any time my word ain’t as good as gold─”
“Oh, of course it’s good!” she protested, and he took her at her word.
“All right, then–I’ve got the gold.”
“Oh, have you really?” she cried, and as he rolled his eyes accusingly she laughed and bit her lip. “That’s just my way of talking,” she explained, rather lamely. “I mean I’m glad–and surprised.”
“Well, you’ll be more surprised,” he said, nodding grimly, “when I show you a piece of the ore. I sold that last lot to a jeweler in Los Angeles for twenty-four dollars an ounce, quartz and all–and pure gold is worth a little over twenty. Talk about your jewelry ore! Wait till I show this in Blackwater and watch them saloon-bums come through here. Too lazy to go out and find anything for themselves–all they know is to follow some poor guy like me and rob him of what he finds. What’s the news from down below?”
“Oh, nothing,” answered Billy, and stood watching 149him doubtfully as he unsaddled and turned out his gaunted mules. His new black hat was sweated through already and his clothes were salt-stained and worn, but it was the look in his eye even more than his clothes which convinced her he had had a hard trip. He was close-mouthed and grim and the old rollicking smile seemed to have been lost beneath a two weeks’ growth of beard. Perhaps she had done wrong to speak of the dog first, but she knew there was something behind.
“Did you have a fight with Mr. Lynch?” she asked at last, and he darted a quick glance and said nothing. “Because when he went through here,” she went on finally, “he seemed to be awful quarrelsome.”
“Yes, he’s quarrelsome,” admitted Wunpost, “but so am I. You wait till I tangle with him, sometime.”
“You’re hungry!” she declared, still gazing at him fixedly, and he gave way to a twisted grin.