His gun was out and pointing at Nick’s forehead.
“You blamed double-crosser!” Allen shouted again.
“What the mischief—” Nick stuttered, his hands over his head. “What’s the idea? What’s the big idea?”
“I’ll show you what’s the idea!” Allen, his face contorted with rage, thrust the bag under Nick’s nose. “Look at that! Take a good look! Nothin’ but ordinary rock! Thought you’d get away with it, did you? Thought I’d find it out when I was on my way? You knew I was plannin’ to start now. You dirty double-crosser! An’ I thought you was honest! I trusted you!”
“Well, you’re barkin’ up a wrong tree now, mister!” Nick responded hotly. “Whatever’s in that bag you put in! I ain’t had it out of my pocket since you saw me put it in! An’ that’s straight!”
“Yea, a hot story that is! Know any more good jokes?” Allen paused and narrowed his eyes. “I reckon,” he said meaningly, “you know what happens to a thief in a mining camp?”
Nick did not reply. Suddenly the whole thing was plain to him. Allen had been waiting for this chance until a new man came into camp and he could work his little game. There was never any gold in the bags. But Allen had declared, before witnesses, that he had twelve thousand dollars’ worth. That would be good evidence before a jury of miners. Everything was in his favor and against Nick.
“Well, what you got to say?” Allen taunted. “What a fool you are to think you could get away with a thing like that! I sure gave you enough chance—you had the gold with you when you went to get your bronc. Plenty of chance to change it for rock. Maybe you thought I’d just toss these here bags in the car without lookin’, hey?”
Nick stared at him calmly.
“Allen,” he said, “it won’t go.”