“Yes,” he ejaculated, and went on sweeping. A moment later he paused again. “Guess I can’t be out at the traps till noon. Mebbe you ken do without me—till then?”
“Sure.” The Padre nodded at the valley. Then he added: “I’ve been thinking.”
“’Bout that gold strike? ’Bout me? You bin thinkin’ I ought to quit the traps, an’—make good wi’ them. I know.”
The elder man turned back sharply and looked into the dark eyes with a shrewd smile.
“You generally get what I’m thinking,” he said.
“Guess you’re not much of a riddle—to me,” Buck laughed, drawing the moist dust into a heap preparatory to picking it up.
The Padre laughed too.
“Maybe you know how I’m feeling about things, then? Y’ see there’s nothing for you now but half the farm money. That’s yours anyway. It isn’t a pile. Seems to me you ought to be—out there making a big position for yourself.” He nodded in the direction of Devil’s Hill.
“Out of gold?”
“Why not? It’s an opportunity.”