"There's a school of sharks in this village, and I don't trust 'em.
They're too slick for a feller like me,"
"It is an ungodly place," the doctor agreed. "I have felt the call to work here, but my duties prevent. Of course I labor in the Lord's vineyard as I pass through, but—I am weak."
"Me, too, and getting weaker daily." Bill summoned a hollow cough.
"Listen to that hospital bark,' I gotta blow this place, Doc, or
they'll button me up in a rosewood overcoat. I gotta sell Eclipse
Creek and beat it." Again he coughed.
"I am distressed. But why do you come here?"
"I aim to sell out to you."
"What is your price, William?"
"A hundred and fifty thousand, cash."
Slayforth lifted protesting palms. "My dear man—"
"That's cheaper'n good advice, and you know it. I took out 'most that much last winter with a scowegian gang of six. Here's the bank's O.K. But I ain't got use for a lot of money, Doc. I wouldn't know how to run a vineyard like you do. All I want is a nice little corner saloon or a cattle ranch."
"It is a large sum of money you ask. There is always an element of uncertainty about placer mining." Doctor Slayforth failed to conceal the gleam of avarice in his eyes.