“Put down your gun. We want to talk,” he said.
“Then,” replied Saunders, who did not stand up, “go ahead; but you’ll stop in the light; and if you feel like sending any of your partners to work a traverse round this bunch of fern, you can remember that I’ve got the forehead plumb on—you.”
The man’s gesture indicated that he understood the situation, and, though he had jumped for cover a little earlier, as most men in his place would have done, it was evident that he was a courageous rogue.
“I want to tell you that there are four of us, and we’ve come up quite a way to shift that post for you,” he said. “There’s no use making trouble, for it has to be done.”
Saunders touched his companion’s shoulder.
“Chip in,” he said softly. “Talk like a land agent trying to sell a ranch. We’ve got to keep this crowd quiet. The boys can’t be far off.”
Devine agreed with his last statement. The moonlight was bright enough for one to travel by, at least in the brûlée, and he was sufficiently acquainted with western human nature to feel certain that every man in the settlement would have started when he heard of their discovery, and, what was more to the purpose, would not waste a moment on the journey. Men going up to a new gold strike do not, as a rule, trouble themselves about want of sleep or weariness. On the other hand, he did not think they could possibly arrive before morning, which meant that he must keep the jumpers talking for several hours. It appeared very doubtful whether their patience or his conversational powers would hold out, but he meant to do what he could.
“I’m not quite as sure that you’re going to move that post as you seem to be; and, anyway, I don’t quite see why you want to do it,” he said. “You can’t take possession of a duly recorded claim.”
The jumper laughed.
“Your record won’t hold. You should have made it clearer; given two-point bearings, or blazed your line on trees.”