“Do many of them get left?” asked Dorothy softly, hoping that her face expressed the right degree of indifference.
“A right smart lot of them do, I reckon,” he responded, with a chuckle. “I know one young fellow right now who’s due for a large, hard fall if he don’t keep his eyes pretty spry about him.”
Dorothy started nervously and covered her slip by reaching for a chocolate from Tavia’s candy box. Tavia, by the way, was at that moment sparkling for the benefit of a bewildered but appreciative Gibbons on the observation platform.
Dorothy hoped Tavia would continue to sparkle for a few moments more. She felt that she was on the verge of a real discovery.
So she asked, disguising her eagerness behind a yawn of apparently complete boredom:
“Is this young fellow you speak of a miner or is he trying to get rich raising wheat?”
“Trying! Trying is right!” snorted the other, and Dorothy surprised an extremely ugly look in his eyes. “Why, he isn’t sure he even owns the land for his wheat to grow on!”
“The title not clear?” asked the girl, in a quiet voice.
“Sometimes titles have flaws in ’em, sometimes it’s old men’s wills that are not clear,” answered the fellow absently.
Dorothy uttered a startled exclamation and the man glanced at her swiftly. Perhaps it was the look in her eyes or some latent stirrings of caution, but at any rate he changed the subject, speaking aimlessly of the weather.