The sport turned around and indicated three of the others.
“That’s Bill Guernsey, our driver,” he said, referring to the Jehu; “this gent hyar,” indicating a bloated gambler-looking man with a prodigious diamond on his shirt front, “is Mister Jake Bolton; we call him Diamond Jake fer short. This gent,” indicating a tall, slender youth with a sleepy air, “is Mister Chris Blume, an’ he’s our civil an’ minin’ engineer. We’re goin’ to drive a shaft up there a mile or more an’ he’s goin’ to do the biz for us.”
“Gentlemen, I’m all very glad to meet you,” said Frank, politely.
“The same, stranger,” said Diamond Jake, advancing and shaking Frank’s hand.
The others all advanced and did the same.
Silver Sam, as the sport was called, did not trouble to introduce the laborers, as the red-shirted men might have been called.
They were a conglomeration of Mexicans, half breeds and toughs.
“Well, friend,” said Silver Sam, after the introduction was over, “what’s yer biz in these parts, might I ax?”
“Certainly,” replied Frank, “and perhaps you can give me some information to aid me?”
“Mebbe we can, stranger. We’ll be glad to do it if we can.” “Did you ever hear of a man about here called Harvey Montaine?”