The baron clattered across the stone floor and stretched out his hand.
“I shake you der hant py for dat,” he cried; “unt vhen he meeds me, I tell Puffalo Pill I have meed vun vite Inchun vat iss a shendelmans.”
“You know him?” cried Conover, amazed.
“Do I know heem? Veil, I dhinks me so I do. I haf his bard peen yit already. Unt I know Vilt Pill, unt old Nomat, unt all dem odder vellers vat drail rount mit heem. I know heem petter as I know eenpoty.”
He was shaking Conover’s hand vigorously.
“How does it happen?”
“Vat? Vy, he know I vass a courageous Cherman, unt so he make me hiss bard.”
“You wasn’t with him, out there?”
“Nein! I vass py my lonesome selluf; I strike straighdt indo dis gountry on mine own hooks. You see dose?” He withdrew his hand and hammered on the bars of the window. “Das vass der glimmer vat I voller—I am drawed here py der shine uff golt. I git der—vat you gall id?—der golt fever.”
“So you knew there was gold here? How did you find that out?”