Johnny looked at the man beside him and the man looked at him.
“Queer chap,” murmured Johnny. “But a real sport at that.”
“No use to try to find him.”
“Not a bit.”
“Queer chap,” Johnny murmured again, “Queer eyes.”
“That Pant was just short for Panther Eye,” said the miner. “Men gave him the name. One of them claimed he was hunting panthers once with a skillful surgeon. A panther tore his right eye out. The surgeon shot the panther and grafted an eye into Pant’s empty socket. The fellow claimed he’d seen him with those yellow goggles off. Said his pupil contracted in the light like a great cat’s eye. But you can’t believe half those men tell you.”
“No, you can’t,” said Johnny. “I guess every chap has a right to have a secret or two about himself and keep them. Pant had his and kept it. That’s about as far as we’ll ever get on that mystery. What say we go to chow?”