McCoppet heard nothing of what his friend was saying. All the possibilities outlined had flashed through his mind at Bostwick's first intimation of the plan. He was busy now with affairs far ahead in the scheme.
"Culver, the Government agent and surveyor is a dark one," he mused aloud, half to himself. "If only Lawrence, his deputy, was in his shoes—— Your frame-up sounds pretty tight, Bostwick, but Culver may block us with his damnable squareness."
"Every man has his price," said Bostwick, "—big and little. Culver, you say, represents the Government? Where is he now?"
McCoppet replied with a question: "Bostwick, how much have you got?"
Bostwick flushed. "Money? Oh, I can raise my share, I hope."
"You hope?" repeated the gambler. "Ain't your syndicate back of any game you open, with the money to see it started right?"
Bostwick was a trifle uneasy. The "syndicate" of which he had spoken was entirely comprised of Beth and her money, which he hoped presently to call his own. He had worked his harmless little fiction of big financial men behind him in the certainty of avoiding detection.
"Of course, I can call on the money," he said, "but I may need a day or so to get it. How much shall we require?"
McCoppet chewed his cigar reflectively.
"Culver will sure come high—if we get him at all—but—it ought to be worth fifty thousand to you and me to shift that reservation line a thousand feet—if reports on the claim are correct."