“Just the man I have been wanting to see,” said Rayder, extending his hand, “how is everything in Saguache and how is Annie?”
“Annie is handsome as ever, but there is a new assayer coming to town next month and I understand he is on the dead square, and what we do we have got to do all-fired quick. How is this for an eye-opener?” He took from his pocket several lumps of shining ore.
“Sylvanite,” exclaimed Rayder. “What does it run?”
“Eighty ounces to the ton. There is a quarter of a million dollars on the dump 206 and the fellows think it is copper and pyrites of iron.”
“How would it do to contest the claim?”
“Dangerous business, they have taken to killing claim jumpers. One was shot last week, and this outfit will shoot, no mistake. It is better to buy them out for a song. They are about broke anyway. They believe everything I tell them, have a child-like confidence in me, same as everybody has. I tell you, Rayder, I stand at the top in the estimation of everybody, and all we have got to do is to have the buyer on the ground, and when they come in with their next samples I will prove to them their values have run out, show them some rich stuff from down the valley and like all others of their class, they will stampede.”
“That sounds good, but tell me more of Annie, did she appreciate the cloak I sent her for a Christmas present?”
“Appreciate it! I should say she did. She just worships it because it came from you, and say, she has your photograph on 207 the wall where she can see it all the time. She just dotes on that picture. I tell her there is the chance of her life, a fine house, fine clothes, a chance to go abroad and cultivate her musical talent, become a great singer and meet dukes and lords and crowned heads. Why, the girl is just crazy over you, and I believe she would marry you even if you did not have a cent. It is like marrying December to May, you sixty and she nineteen, pretty and vivacious––warm up your old bones, eh?”
Rayder’s eyes shone and he stroked his beard with delight. “Charley,” he called to his office boy, “bring up a quart of whisky, some lemons and sugar.”
“Sweet creature, I love thee,” said Amos a few minutes later, holding up a half goblet of whisky. “You do the proper thing in setting out these kind of glasses; puts me in mind of my old home down in Texas, where we never drink out of anything smaller than a tin cup or a gourd.”