A muffled cry and a crash caused him to again slam the door and withdraw.
Coming back to the middle of the room, he took out his pipe and began to fill it. One of the younger men said:
"You'll get that grub-stake over the eye; the widdy is dangerous to-night."
Sherm seemed not much concerned. Having fired his pipe, he took a piece of rock from his pocket. "What do you think o' this?" he inquired, casually.
The other examined it eagerly, and broke out: "Jee—cripes! Why, say! that's jest rotten with gold. Where'd you find it?"
"Out in the hills," was the placid reply; "a new vein—high up."
The third man took the rock and said: "That vein has got to be low down—that can't come from high up. We're on the wrong trail. Think o' Cripple Creek—mine's right under the grass on the hills. Yer can't fool me."
"But we know the veins are high—we've seen 'em," argued the other men.
"Yes—but they're different veins. This rock comes from lower down."
"What do you say to that, Sherm?"