“Glad to see a West-countryman out here. I’m from Devonport. But come on and have a chat by-and-by. What were you going to say, though?”
“Seeing what a set of rough pups there are about here, my son, I was going to say, is it safe for a man to carry about a lot of gold like that?”
The stranger took back his bag and slung it over his shoulder again, as he looked from one to the other, half-closed his eyes, and nodded.
“Yes, and no, my lads. You’re right; we have got some rough pups about here—chaps who’d put a bullet into a man for a quarter of what I’ve got there. But they daren’t. We’ve got neither law nor police, you see.”
“No, I don’t see,” said Dallas. “You speak in riddles.”
“You don’t see, my lad, because you’re a Johnny Newcome. I’ll tell you. We’ve got some of the most blackguardly scum that could be took off the top of the big town sink-holes—men who’ve come to rob and gamble; but we’ve got, too, plenty of sturdy fellows like yourselves, who mean work and who trust one another—men who’ll help each other at a pinch; and I’ve heard that there’s a sort of lawyer fellow they call Judge Lynch has put in an appearance, and he stands no nonsense. He’s all on the side of the honest workers, and one of them has only to denounce a man as a thief for the Vigilants to nail him at once. Then there’s a short trial, a short shrift, and there’s one rogue the less in the world.”
“You mean if he’s proved to be a thief, or red-handed.”
“That’s it, my lads. There, I’ve got some friends to meet. Come on and see me to-night.”
The speaker nodded cheerily to all three, and went off at a swinging gait.
“Well, I wouldn’t have minded shaking hands with that chap,” said the big Cornishman. “The more of that sort there is out here the better.”