"Shucks!" said Drummond. "I want five hundred dollars before I start."
"Then you had better try somebody else," said Stormont, smiling. "It's possible that all you can tell me isn't worth five dollars."
"I'll show you! Gimme a hundred now and 'nother drink."
"Take fifty, or I quit," said Stormont, who passed him the bottle.
Drummond drained his glass. "You're mean, but I gotter make a start. Where's the bills?"
Stormont gave him some paper money, and then turned to the clerk. "See about mailing the letters, Watson."
The clerk went out, knowing why he had been sent. His employer trusted him where he was forced, but did not want him to hear what Drummond had to say.
When Watson had gone Drummond knitted his brows, as if trying to remember something. "The vein runs out on the face of a cliff, 'bout forty paces from the first rampike pine; there's three or four rampikes, but the fire hadn't gone far into the bush."
"Not much of a clue! There are patches of burned forest all over the country," Stormont remarked.
"Don't interrupt!" said Drummond, with a frown. "It's pretty hard to remember. Give me 'nother drink. I wanter get it right."