But the German patience that characterized him caused him to stick to the work, even though at times he went so slowly that it seemed he was not progressing at all.
When he was a mile from the town, Schnitzenhauser suddenly doubled up, and fell on his stomach, in such haste that it jarred the breath out of him.
“Ouch!” he breathed, as soon as he could breathe at all. “Dot iss too kvick vork for oldt Schnitzenhauser. I am vondering dit he see me?”
He had sighted Jackson Dane, whom he had been so long following, and he could not be sure that Dane had not reciprocated.
For a time the baron lay flat on the ground; the only movement he made was to put back his hand to his hip holster, and get out his reliable forty-five.
“Der hartvare is der pitzness, uff he dries too choomp me,” he thought. “Aber I tond’t apsoludely knowed idt, I am gonwinced now dot dhis Shackson Dane is one willain.”
When he began to feel safe, the baron lifted his head and took a look.
Jackson Dane had scooped out a hole beneath a stone on a hillside, and was burying buckskin bags. Even as he looked, the baron saw him open one of the bags, put in his hand, and let a shower of gold nuggets slide through his fingers.
The baron was tremendously excited by that.