They certainly looked it, and for a moment Weston said nothing. He was aware that there was a spice of cruelty in this, but he was curious to see what the man would do. It became evident that he could, at least, face an unpleasant situation with equanimity.
“Anyway,” he said, “you can come right in, and I’ll get you some supper. You can put the horse in Musgrave’s stable yonder.”
Then, while Devine laughed softly, Weston strode up to the veranda and thrust a heavy bag into the storekeeper’s hand.
“Get a light,” he said, “and look at them.”
It was ten minutes later when they sat around a little table in the back store, which smelt unpleasantly of salt pork and coffee. A big kerosene lamp hung above their heads, and the storekeeper gazed with almost incredulous eyes at the litter of broken stones in front of him.
“Oh, yes,” he said, “it’s high-grade milling ore. You’ll say nothing to the boys, and get your record in to-morrow. Then what’s your program?”
“I’ll go on to Vancouver and see about getting a well-known mining man to go up and certify my statements,” said Weston. “Then I’ll try to raise sufficient money to make a start with. I ought to get it there or in Victoria.”
“No,” said the storekeeper, “you go on to Montreal. They’ve more money yonder, and it’s good policy to strike for the place you’re likely to get the most.”
“One understands that it’s difficult for the little man who has a claim to sell to get much for it anywhere,” said Weston, with a smile.
The storekeeper straightened himself resolutely in his chair.