“Can’t say. I ain’t much when it comes to prospectin’ gold. I knows the colour when I sees it.”
Nick joined in the conversation at this point.
“Guess you’d a notion you fancied bein’ in it,” he said, smiling over at the Breed.
Victor laughed a little harshly.
“That’s jest what.”
The two brothers nodded. This they had understood.
“I’d have found all the plant fer big work,” went on the trader eagerly. “I’d have found the cash to do everything. I’d have found the labour. An’ us three ’ud have made a great syndicate. We’d ’a’ run it dead secret. Wi’ me in it we could ’a’ sent our gold down to the bank by the dogs, an’, bein’ as my shack’s so far from here, no one ’ud ever ’a’ found whar the yeller come from. It ’ud ’a’ been a real fine game–a jo-dandy game. An’ it’s worked clear out?” he asked again, as though to make certain that he had heard aright.
“Bottomed right down to the bedrock. Maybe ye’d like to see fer yourself?”
“Guess I ken take your word, boys; ye ain’t the sort to lie to a pal. I’m real sorry.” He paused and shifted his position. Then he went on with a slightly cunning look. “I ’lows you’re like to take a run down to Edmonton one o’ these days. A feller mostly likes to make things hum when he’s got a good wad.” Gagnon’s tone was purely conversational. But his object must have been plain to any one else. He was bitterly resentful at the working out of the placer mine, and his anger always sent his thoughts into crooked channels. His nature was a curious one; he was honest enough, although avaricious, while his own ends were served. It was different when he was balked.
“We don’t notion a city any,” said Nick, simply.