“If gold mines were sellin’ for a nickel apiece, I couldn’t raise the nickel,” asseverated Amsden in a melancholy tone.
“Come, that’s a pity. I didn’t know any American was ever so poor as that. As I’ve knocked you down twice, perhaps it is only fair to compensate you for affording me such a chance for healthful exercise. Here, my friend, here are two silver dollars, one for each time I floored you.”
“You’re a gentleman!” exclaimed Amsden, his face lighting up with satisfaction as he pocketed the coins. Then, as he turned, a sudden idea struck him, and he asked insinuatingly: “Wouldn’t you like to knock me down ag’in, stranger?”
“No, I think not,” responded the tourist laughing. “However, we’ll suppose I have, and here’s another dollar.”
“Thank you, squire.”
Jake Amsden departed with alacrity, making a bee-line for his friend Pete Johnson’s saloon.
Gerald and his friend then sat down to breakfast, which, it is needless to say, they both heartily enjoyed. As they rose from the table a knock was heard at the cabin door.
Gerald answered it in some surprise, for visitors and calls were infrequent, and found outside a man of about forty, holding by the hand a boy of twelve.