"Once in a while I've heard of a cute one squirting a sharp syringe full of chloride of gold on worthless rock, through the meshes of the canvas, even after the samples were sealed," he imparted quietly. "This sack looks to me like some I've encountered before that were pretty rich in gold. I'll assay the cloth if you like."
Van took the sack in his hand, examined it silently, then glanced as before at his papers.
"Salted—by that lump of a Briggs!" His lip was curved in a mirthless smile. "I guess I've got it in the neck all right. These last samples tell the real story." He slapped the papers across his hand, then tore them up in tiny bits and threw them on the floor."
"Sorry, old man," said the assayer, as before. "Hope you didn't pay him much for the claim."
"Not much," said Van. "All I had—and some of it borrowed money."
The assayer puckered up his mouth.
"Briggs has skipped—gone East."
"I know. Well—all in a lifetime, I suppose. Pay you, Frank, when I can."
"That's all right," his friend assured him. "Forget it if you like."
Van started off, but returned.