"Son," said Johnson, "I wouldn't sell you one per cent of my share of that mine for all you've got. Come again!"
The gambler laughed contemptuously. "That's easy enough said," he taunted. "If you want to wiggle out of it that way, all right!"
Pete raised a finger.
"Not so fast. I don't remember that I've wiggled any yet. I don't want your money or your saloon. In mentioning my mine you have set an example of plain speaking which I intend to follow. I do hereby believe that you can clear Stanley Mitchell of the charge hanging over him. If you can, I'll bet you a one-quarter interest in our mine against that evidence. I'll take your word if you'll take mine, and I'll give you twelve hours' start before I make your confession public.—Boland, you mind your own business. I'm doing this.—Well, Dewing, how about it?"
"If you think I've got evidence to clear Stanley—"
"I do. I think you did the trick yourself, likely."
"You might as well get one thing in your head, first as last: if I had any such evidence and made any such a bet—I'd win it! You may be sure of that. So you'd be no better off so far as getting your pardner out of trouble is concerned—and you lose a slice of mining property. If you really think I can give you any such evidence, why not trade me an interest in the mine for it?"
"I'm not buying, I'm betting! Who's wiggling now?"
"You headstrong, stiff-necked old fool, you've made a bet! I've got the evidence. Your word against mine?"
"Your word against mine. The bet is made," said Pete. "What have you got?
I called you."