“Third of a day’s work and a whole day’s pay,” he mused. “Jowett,” he added, “I want you to have faith. I’m going to do Marchand, and I’m going to do him in a way that’ll be best in the end. You can help as much if not more than anybody—you and Osterhaut. And if I succeed, it’ll be worth your while.”
“I ain’t followin’ you because it’s worth while, but because I want to, Chief.”
“I know; but a man—every man—likes the counters for the game.” He turned to the table, opened a drawer, and took out a folded paper. He looked it through carefully, wrote a name on it, and handed it to Jowett.
“There’s a hundred shares in the Northwest Railway, with my regards, Jowett. Some of the counters of the game.”
Jowett handed it back at once with a shake of the head. “I don’t live in Manitou,” he said. “I’m almost white, Chief. I’ve never made a deal with you, and don’t want to. I’m your man for the fun of it, and because I’d give my life to have your head on my shoulders for one year.”
“I’d feel better if you’d take the shares, Jowett. You’ve helped me, and I can’t let you do it for nothing.”
“Then I can’t do it at all. I’m discharged.” Suddenly, however, a humorous, eager look shot into Jowett’s face. “Will you toss for it?” he blurted out. “Certainly, if you like,” was the reply.
“Heads I win, tails it’s yours?”
“Good.”
Ingolby took a silver dollar from his pocket, and tossed. It came down tails. Ingolby had won.