"Yes. There's a lot of talk loose about the trouble between you and Plimsoll's crowd. Factions for both sides and a lot of onlookers who are neutral and just waiting for the excitement. I saw Roaring Russell but he passed me up. He might not have known me. He was pretty well drunk. He's talking big about taking you apart, Mr. Peters. He claims to have been a champion wrestler at one time."
"You don't say so," said Mormon. "Me, I was the champeen wrastler of the Cow Belt, one time. Had the belt to prove it till I lost it at draw poker. I've got hawg fat sence then, but I don't believe I've softened any. An' the booze he's tuckin' away is mighty pore stuff fo' trainin'. But I ain't long on walkin'," he added. "B'lieve I'll sit me down a spell. I'll make fire an' git supper if you want to take Westlake up to the tunnel."
Westlake carefully inspected the tunnel, the float and the contents of the dump.
"I wouldn't wonder if Casey was running this as a drift to follow a good lead," he pronounced. "It looks better to me than any part of the camp I've inspected. I'll assay these samples for you, if you've no objection. I've got a lot of orders back at my shack already. My customers told me that they'd put a flea in Russell's ear that the camp assayer was not to be interfered with, so there is some value in an education, you see."
Sandy nodded. "You pack a gun?" he asked.
"No. I've got one, but I don't carry it. My practise with firearms has been with larger calibers."
"War?" asked Sandy.
"Yes. I was in the artillery. Is there anything else I can do? Get you some supplies? I'm coming back to have supper with Miss Bailey and her nephew."
"Not a thing," said Sandy. "Much obliged." He watched the engineer swing away.
"There's a good man for you," he said to Sam. "Well set up and able to handle himself. I like his ways first-rate."