“Seems to me, Peter, as if the ways of things were 184 queer,” he said, after a long pause. “I’ve got something that’ll keep me out of Barnriff a good deal in future. I’ve had it a week an’ more back. I’ve struck a good thing up in the hills.” He laughed. “A real good thing––and it’s easy, too.”
“I’m glad,” the other said genuinely.
“It’s gold. Something in your line, eh? Placer. Gee, I’ll make things hum when I’ve taken the stuff out of it. S’truth, I’ll buy some of ’em! And sell ’em, too, for that matter.”
Peter was interested.
“Gold, eh? Well, good luck to you. I’m glad––if it’s to make a man of you.”
For a second Will’s eyes flashed.
“Yes, you’re right; it’ll make a man of me. And, being a man, there are some things I’m not likely to forget. Say, you’ve passed sentence––you and your friends, which include Jim Thorpe. You won’t have to carry it out. I’ll knuckle down, because I know you all. But, by gee! I’ve struck what you’re looking for, and when I’ve gathered the dust I’ll make some folks jump to my own tune! Get that, Peter Blunt.”
Peter smiled at the sudden outburst of malicious rage. Then his face grew cold, and his even tone checked the tide of the other’s impotent rage.
“I get it,” he said. “But meanwhile Barnriff is top dog, an’ you best write that down in big letters, and set it where you can read it easily. Now you can go home and look after your poor wife. And remember, as sure as there’s a God in heaven, if you make that girl’s life a misery, or in any way hurt her, you’ll sicken at the thought of Barnriff. Now you can go.”