"It ain't in Russian territory. It's in the United States, I've found out that much. But minin' men don't take much stock in what I tell 'em, an' coal men say it's too long a haul. But a man wi' money what knows coal an' knows gold, an' could do some steam thawin' an' hydraulickin' would make good."
Owens looked at him thoughtfully.
"It's a wild and woolly yarn, all right," he said, "and it sounds like a story from a book, with the hold-up, and the girl and the idea of restitution, and the treasure-map and all the rest of it. You haven't any proof?"
"Nothin' but what I've told you—an' the map. My pardner's got to take my say-so."
"You say you wrote frequently to Bull Evans' daughter?"
"Once a season—sometimes twice. Whenever I could get some money through."
"She will have kept those letters, certainly," the mine-owner mused, "and the payments through the Express Company will be easy to trace. Where does the girl live?"
"In Pittsburgh, now, with her aunt."
"If I guarantee to advance two hundred thousand, when satisfied that your story is straight, will you produce the map and come along, yourself?"