"Certainly, I'll do what I can. But I—don't want any of Anderson Rover's pile—not me. Why, your father nursed me through the worst case o' fever a miner ever had—an' I ain't forgittin' it, lads. I'll stick to ye to the end." And the old miner put out his hand and gave another squeeze that made Dick wince.
The Palace of the West reached, Wumble pushed his way into the smoke-laden office and to the desk.
"Say, is there a man named Jack Wumble stopping here?" he demanded.
"Jack Wumble," repeated the clerk slowly.
"That's what I said."
"There is a Jack Wimple stopping here—but he is out—gone to St.
Louis."
"Jack Wimple? He's not the man," and the old miner fell back and repeated what had been said to the three boys.
"Perhaps Bradner made a mistake," suggested Tom. "But I don't believe it."
"He tried to make us believe this hotel and the Western Palace were one and the same," put in Sam.
"He's sharp, I tell you," declared Jack Wumble. "Just wait till I get on his trail, I'll make him tell us the truth. More than likely he wanted to clean you boys out."