“Ther’ll be sixty thousand dollars,” the storekeeper mumbled doubtfully.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Sure.” Bill turned and gazed out of the window. “It needs to be a big pile. Makes things surer.”
“Surer? I don’t get you.”
“No; that’s so.” The gambler turned back to the other abruptly. “Say, you get busy an’ gas. Gas till you got the camp yappin’ like coyotes. Tell ’em the stage is sure carryin’ sixty thousand dollars’ worth o’ good red gold.” Then his manner suddenly changed and he laughed. “Say, I’m jest goin’ out to get a peek at my claim. I sure guess I bought a dandy rich claim o’ Zip.”
“You orter know,” said Minky, with a shake of the head. “I sure don’t seem to understand––”
“Course you don’t,” cried Bill, with strange good-nature. Then his eyes became curiously reflective. “Wher’s Zip?”
“Zip? Guess he’s around with the kids. Y’see, the Bird’s helpin’ him fix things. Maybe they’re back in the dinin’-room.”
Bill stood for a moment in deep thought. Then he turned suddenly, and his fierce little eyes fixed themselves on his friend’s face.