"I seen a lawyer about it," resumed Overland. "He said it was plain enough that the claim belonged to the dead prospector or his girl, now. You see, we worked the claim and kep' up the work accordin' to law. What we made ain't ours, but I'm mighty glad it's hers. 'Course, we earned what dust we dug, all right. Now I'm leavin' it up to you. Do we tell her or do we say nothin', and go on gettin' rich?"
"Why do you put it up to me?" asked Collie.
"Because, kid, you got the most to lose. Your chance is about gone with the Rose Girl if you let go the gold. Sabe? The little Rose Girl is wise. She don't give two cents for money—but she ain't foolish enough to marry a puncher that's workin' for wages on her uncle's ranch. And when she gets all me and Billy made and your share, she'll be rich. That won't be no time for you to go courtin' her. It ain't that you ain't good enough for any girl. But now'days things is different. You got to have money."
"Do you think Louise would take the money?" asked Collie.
"I don't know. But that ain't it. We either give it up—or we don't. What do you say?"
"Why—to tell Louise, of course. I meant that right along. You ought to know that."
"You givin' it up because you had some fuss with her, or anything like that?"
"No, Red. I say tell her, because it's square. Did she stop to ask questions when I was in trouble? No. She went to work to help me, quick. I guess we care more for her than a whole carload of gold."
"Well, I guess. Once I wouldn't 'a' stopped to worry about whose gold it was. But knowin' the Rose Girl,—knowin' what she is,—why, it's makin' me soft in me morals."
"What do we do now, Red?"