“I beg your pardon,” he said, stepping forward. “Of course I couldn’t help overhearing your dictation, sir. May I ask if you are Mr. Robert Bowen of Tonopah?”
Bowen gave him a slow stare. “I am.”
“By George! It’s lucky I met you, then. I arrived from Tonopah myself a couple of days ago, and have been trying to connect with you. My name’s Henderson. While at Tonopah I looked over your holdings, among others; and if you’d consider an offer on them—”
Bowen drew a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and lighted it. He surveyed Henderson with indecision.
“I don’t know you, Mr. Henderson,” he observed coolly. “I don’t want to sell those two properties, but I happen to need cash—in a hurry. My samples and assayers’ reports are at the hotel—”
“I remember the properties very well,” broke in Henderson. “I know you by reputation, and I know your ground by personal examination. Frankly, Mr. Bowen, I’m bucking the Dickover interests in a certain direction. If you’ll give me an option—”
“Nothing doing!” snapped Bowen with finality. “Dickover is talking cold cash. Of course my ore is nothing wonderful—”
Henderson produced a check-book. “I’ll give you a check for five thousand to cover both claims,” he said quickly. “Not a cent more. Yes or no?”
“Now, I like your way of doing business!” said Bowen cordially. “That’s what I call a man’s way. Five thousand wins. Got any legal forms around, Miss Ferguson? Are you a notary?”
“I have and I am,” said the girl quietly.