Under this inspiring news the commercial mind of Barnriff was stirred; it was lifted out of the despondency into which the news of the cattle-stealing had plunged it. It cleaned off its rust and began to oil its joints and look to its tools. With the first news it, metaphorically, “reared up.” Then Will came into town with a bag of dust and nuggets, and the optical demonstration set lips smacking 189 and eyes gleaming with envy and covetousness. They asked “Where?” But Will shook his head with a cunning leer. Let them go and seek it as he had to do, he said. And forthwith his advice was acted upon by no less than a dozen men, who promptly abandoned profitable billets for the pursuit of the elusive yellow ore.
Two weeks later Will again visited the village. This time he staggered the folks by taking his wife to Abe Horsley’s store, and spending two hundred dollars in dry-goods and draperies for her. He flashed a “wad” of bills that dazzled the lay-preacher’s eyes, and talked of buying a ranch and building himself a mansion on it.
Nor did he visit the saloon. He was sober, and looked the picture of health and cheerfulness. He talked freely of his strike and its possibilities. He swaggered and patronized his less fortunate fellow townsmen, until he had them all by the ears and set them tumbling over each other to get out after the gold.
He was followed and watched. Men shadowed his every movement in the hope of discovering his mine, but he was too clever for them. They kept his trail to the hills, but there he quickly lost them. He never took the same route twice, and, on one occasion, traveled for three days and nights, due north, before entering the foot-hills. He was as elusive as the very gold his pursuers sought.
One by one the would-be prospectors returned disappointed to the village, and again took up their various works, forced to the sorry consolation of listening to the tales of Will’s wealth, and watching him occasionally run in to the village and scatter his money broadcast amongst the storekeepers.
Of all Barnriff Peter Blunt seemed the least disturbed. He went calmly on with his work, smiling gently whenever spoken to on the subject. And his reply was invariably the same.
“I’m not handling ‘placer,’” he told Doc Crombie one day, when that strenuous person was endeavoring to “pump” him on the subject. “I allow ‘placers’ are easy, and make a big show. But my ‘meat’ is high grade ore that’s going to work for years. His strike don’t interest me a heap, except it proves there’s gold in plenty around these parts.”
Nor could he be drawn into further discussion in the matter.
Yet his interest was far greater than he admitted. He was puzzled, too. He could not quite make out how he had missed the signs of alluvial deposit. Both scientifically and practically he was a master of his hobby, in spite of local opinion. Yet he had missed this rich haul under his very nose. That was his interest as a gold miner. But there was another side to it, which occupied his thoughts even more. And it was an interest based on his knowledge of Will Henderson, and––various other things.