“Wal,”—Blandy dropped his voice—“you go into pardnership with me, Patton, and you don’t have to stay.”
The other took out his cigar and eyed Blandy half-suspiciously. “You’ve changed some,” he commented. “You didn’t used to care much about me. But—what’s your proposition?”
The gleam of triumph came back into Blandy’s eyes. “I’ve made a strike,” he said.
“A mine?”
Now, Blandy straightened, shoulders back, head up, face all a-grin once more. “That’s what,” he declared proudly.
Patton slipped down from his stool. “Where?” he asked excitedly.
Blandy lifted a long arm to point out through the front window toward the north. “Four days from here,” he answered.
“When’ll we go?” questioned the other. He reached across to lay a hand on Blandy’s sleeve. “We’ve got to locate, you know. That’s the law. We mustn’t miss a trick, old man.”
“Oh, I located, all right,” declared Blandy. He drew back a step.
“But you didn’t locate for me,” went on Patton. “So I’ve got to go out, haven’t I? And there’s another reason, too. You’re the only person that knows just where the lead is. Well, suppose anything were to happen to you—a railroad accident, or a bad sickness. Where would I be? That’s the way all the lost mines’ve come about, Blandy.”