“An’ it wasn’t Loon Creek?”
Jim smiled as he put his question.
“I’m glad,” he added as the other shook his head.
“You’re glad?”
“I surely am.” Jim spread out his hands. “Here, Marty,” he cried, “I was sick to death hearing you hand out your yarn to the boys. I kind of saw a rush for Loon Creek comin’ along and beating you—an’ me—right out of everything. Knowing you I thought it was truth. But I’m mighty glad you—lied.”
Le Gros sat back in his chair. His eyes turned from the man before him.
“Knowing me?” he said, with a gentle smile of irony. “I wonder.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know myself. No, you didn’t know me. I’m different now. Quite different. And it’s that gold changed me. Do you know how—why? No.” He shook his head. “I guess you don’t. I’ll tell you. It’s Felice. My little Felice. And that’s why I came right over to see you, and tell you the things in my mind.”
Jim shifted his chair as the other paused. He leant forward with his forearms resting on his knees. The thought of the gold was deep in his mind. There was personal, selfish interest in him as well as interest for that which the other had to tell him about his baby, Felice.
Marty drew a deep breath. His eyes turned from the man before him. The intensity of Jim’s regard left him with an added realisation of the power that gold exercises over the simplest, the best of humanity.
“If I live, Jim, I’m going to let you into this ‘strike.’ Maybe it’ll help you, and leave you free of your Company,” he said gently. “You shall be in it what you folk call ‘fifty-fifty.’ If I die you shall be in it the same way, only it’ll be with my baby girl. And for that I want to set an obligation on you. Can you stand for an obligation?”