“Oh, we always wear tough sole-leather,” laughed Gus. “We have been knocking about too long to do otherwise.”
This reply put the colonel off the track once more. But he went on,—
“You are from the West then?”
“We came from Central America,” replied Oliver; “but we have been spending some time in San Francisco.”
“Ah, I see.”
There was a short pause after this. Oliver felt the colonel’s sharp eyes bent full upon him, and to avoid confusion he bent over and began an examination of the sole of one of his boots.
“That is getting a little worn,” he said to Gus; “I guess I will pare that edge off with a knife.” And getting out his penknife he began to do so.
While at work several men came into the office and asked for instructions. Oliver became much interested in what was said, referring as it did to the transfer of some heavy machinery from San Francisco to the mine. He laid down his knife, pulled up his boot, and drank in every word.
From this he learned that on the day following a party of six men with eighteen mules were to start for the coast. On arriving there, the machinery was to be put up in packs, loaded on the mules, and then brought to the mine. The trip would occupy the best part of a month.
This conversation gave the boy considerable satisfaction. It would decrease the force of men in the mine by six, and this would count for much if the sheriff should have any trouble in establishing their claim. He trusted that Colonel Mendix would not discover their intentions before the start was made.