“I know I have none,” he retorted, with some impatience, and yet a good deal of fondness in his handsome eyes. “That is why I’m complaining. I wish I had. And if I had, wouldn’t I whisk you away from this 152 uncouth life! I wonder if you will ever let me do so, Tana?”
“I think you’d better be packing your plunder,” she remarked, coolly. “If you don’t, you’ll keep the whole outfit waiting.”
And that was how they let even Lyster go away. Not a hint was he given of the all-engrossing plan that bound both ’Tana and Overton to the interests of the passive stranger, who looked at them with intelligence, but who could not speak.
Their partnership was a curious affair, and the arrangement for interests in it was conducted on the one side by nods or shakes of the head, while the other two offered suggestions, and asked questions, until a very clear understanding was arrived at.
Only one knotty discussion had arisen. Overton offered to give one month of time to the search, on condition that one half of the find, if there was any made, should belong to ’Tana, while the original finder should have the other half. He himself would give that much time to helping them out in a friendly way; but more than that he could not give, because of other duties.
To this the man Harris shook his head with all possible vigor, while ’Tana was quite as emphatic in an audible way. Harris desired that all shares be equal, and Overton count himself in for a third. ’Tana approved the plan, insisting that she would not accept an ounce of the dust if he did not. So Dan finally agreed and ended the discussion concerning the division of the gold they might never find.
“And don’t be so dead sure that the dirt will pan out well, even if we do find the place,” he said, warningly, to ’Tana. “Why, my girl, if the average of dust 153 had been as high as my average of hope over strikes I’ve made myself, I would have been a billionaire long ago.”
“I never heard you talk of prospecting,” remarked ’Tana. “All the rest do here, and not you—how is that?”
“Oh, prospecting strikes one like a fever; sometimes a man recovers from it, or seems to for a while. I had the fever bad about two years ago—out in Nevada. Well, I left there. I sunk my stock of capital in a very big hole, and lost my enthusiasm for a while. Maybe I will find it again, drifting along the Kootenai; but as yet it has not struck me hard. From what I can gather, this fellow must simply have dropped on a nugget or little pocket, and something must have made him distrust his partner to such an extent that he kept the secret find to himself. So there evidently has been no testing of the soil, no move toward development. We may never find an ounce of metal, for such disappointments have been even where very large nuggets have been found. You must not expect too much of this search. Golden hope lets you down hard when you do fall with it.”
But, despite his warnings, he made arrangements for their river journey with all speed possible. The three of them were to go; and, as chaperon, Mrs. Huzzard was persuaded to join their queer “picnic” party, for that was the idea given abroad concerning their little trip to the north. It was to be a venture in the interests of Harris—supposedly the physical interests; though Captain Leek did remark, with decided emphasis, that it was the first time he ever knew of a man being sent out to live in the woods as a cure for paralysis. 154