"Want to see me? Certainly, Colonel." Jaggers is aroused.
In a private room, Jaggers wails over his discharge. His pocket is his only fear. Otherwise, he is in Heaven. His life now, is all "Cocktails and poker!" "Poker and cocktails!" It leaves him little time for business. Woods knows his man—a useful tool.
"Look here, Jaggers; I know your time is valuable." Jaggers bows gravely; he smells a new twenty-dollar piece; it will extend his "cocktail account." "I want you to do some business for me." Jaggers looks stately.
"I'm your man, Colonel," says Jaggers, who is, strange to say, very expert in his line. The trouble with Jaggers is, the saloon is not near enough to Judge Hardin's office. The OFFICE should be in the SALOON. It would save useless walking.
"I want you to search a title for me," says Colonel Joe, from behind a cloud of smoke. Jaggers sniffs the aroma. Joseph hands him several "Excepcionales."
Jaggers becomes dignified and cool. "Is there money in it, Colonel?" he says, with a gleam of his ferret eyes.
"Big money," decisively says Woods.
"I'm very busy now," objects Jaggers. He thinks of his ten-cent ante in that pedro game.
"I want you to give me your idea of the title to the Lagunitas mine. I am thinking of buying in," continues Joe. "I'll give you five hundred dollars, in cold twenties, if you tell me what you know."
"How soon?" Jaggers says, with a gasp.