Drayton said that he might spare another half-hour without getting into trouble, and they crossed the city to where a row of squalid frame shacks stood on its outskirts. In the one they entered, a gaunt man with grizzled hair lay upon a rickety bed. A glance showed Vane that the man was very frail, and the harsh cough that he broke into as the colder air from outside flowed in made the fact clearer. Drayton, hastily shutting the door and explaining the cause of the visit, motioned Vane to sit down.
"I've heard of you," said the prospector, fixing his eyes on Vane. "You're the man who located the Clermont—and put the project through. You had the luck. I've been among the ranges half my life—and you can see how much I've made of it! When I struck a claim that was worth anything somebody else got the money."
Vane had reasons for believing that this was not an uncommon experience.
"Well," the man continued, "you look straight—and I've got to take some chances. It's my last stake. We'll get down to business. I'll tell you about that spruce."
He spoke for a few minutes, and then asked abruptly:
"What are you going to offer?"
Vane had not been certain that he would make any offer at all; but, as had befallen him once or twice before, the swift decision flashed instinctively into his mind.
"If I find that the timber and its location come up to your account of it, I'll pay you so many dollars down—whatever we can agree on—when I get my lease from the land office. Then I'll make another equal payment the day we start the mill. But I don't bind myself to record the timber or to put up a mill, unless I'm convinced that it's worth while."
"I'd rather take less money and have a small share in the concern; and
Drayton must stand in."
"It's a question of terms," Vane replied. "I'll consider your views."