He drew down the ear-flaps of his fur cap, hunted up his heavy mittens, and once more opening the door, pushed out into the storm.
Twenty minutes later he entered Stoell's place,
and as he stamped the snow from his garments, and beat it from his cap and mittens, Camillo Bill greeted him from the bar.
"Hello, Ace-In-The-Hole! I'm buyin' a drink." The room was deserted except for the bartender who promptly set out bottle and glasses. "Let's go over here," suggested Camillo Bill, when the empty glasses had been returned to the bar. He led the way to a small table.
"Bring the bottle and glasses!" called Brent over his shoulder, and Camillo Bill seconded the order with a nod.
"Now," he began, as Brent filled his glass, "Let's get this here deal straightened out. In the first place, is them two claims of yourn worth a million?"
Brent flushed, hotly, but Camillo Bill forestalled his reply. "Hold on, now. I didn't mean what you're thinkin' about—an' you ort to know me well enough to know I didn't. When you said them two claims was worth a million, not me, nor no one else questioned your word, did we? Well, what I'm gettin' at is are they worth more than a million, 'n' how much more?"
Brent laughed: "They're worth more than a million. How much more I don't know. I took out a half a million last summer, and I don't think I'm half way to bed-rock at the deepest."
Camillo Bill nodded: "All right, that's what I wanted to know. You see, there's five or six of
us holds your slips an' markers that totals a million over an' above what was in Stoell's safe. I'll jest cash them slips an' markers, an' take over the claims."