"A copper proposeetion, pure boanite," elucidated Sandy.
"Aye! Something that's a-goin' ter make Clark of Montana bust with envy some day," assented Nick, "and knock Newhouse of Salt Lake City inter a cocked hat. Why, tho' by nacher conservative an' shrinking I myself am calkilatin' on stackin' up the chips—I mean the books, ag'in Andy Carnegie, and pourin' oil on the troubled waters of John D. Rockefeller's poverty, unless he's run in fust! Take my word fer it, missy, every man within range of them bright eyes of yourn is a millionaire—ter-morrer! A stun-broke millionaire!"
"But, you see, my father is a millionaire to-day," explained Miss Durant, with amused tolerance. "A multi-millionaire."
Nick shrugged his shoulders. "Lucky father!"
"Why, that's his camp name," Evelyn exclaimed. "Lucky! He has often told me. Surely you all know Lucky?"
MINGLED WITH THE TRAVELLERS AT GUMBOOT ANNIE'S BOARD.
There was a dead silence, broken only by the fly-catcher's mocking refrain, every man with wonderful restraint and delicacy avoiding so much as a glance toward Durant.
Then, again, Nick rose to the occasion, manfully. "Why, ter be sure! Everybody knows Lucky, and Lucky's Rainbow Mine, eh, boys? Blast yer, can't yer say yer does?" he demanded, in an undertone that would have been backed up with a shooting-iron had his hands been free.