“He got ten thousand dollars for his share of the money you jointly sold the claim for, John Simpson.”
“How do you know that? Who are you?” demanded the rich man, with feverish interest.
“How do I know? I certainly ought to know, for I was one of the two men who bought you out.”
“You!” exclaimed Simpson, with undisguised amazement.
“Yes. I don’t look like it now, do I? But I had money then, and I paid ten thousand dollars down for a half interest in the claim. I may as well tell you that I never got the money back. The claim was nearly exhausted at the time you sold, though I am sure neither you nor Thatcher knew it. Well, you both remained awhile. After you left my partner and myself came to the conclusion that we had made a bad bargain, and he deputed me to follow you and see if you wouldn’t return a part of the money under the circumstances.”
“Well?”
“Well, I finally came up with you. It was a bright moonlight night. I found where you were encamped.”
Darius Darke paused. He rose from his chair, went to the door, and closed it; then he came back, and approaching Mr. Simpson’s chair, said, in a low voice:
“Don’t ask me to tell what I saw. You, of all men, would shrink from hearing it.”
John Simpson looked at him with a dazed air.