“No, I didn’t. Didn’t I tell you I’ve been in hard luck? I had just $100 in my clothes when I discovered that there ground was worth the buying, so I gave it up on account to the feller that owned the diggings. He wanted to sell so bad that he chucked in his shanty with it; not that it’s worth a sight more’n so much kindling wood.”
“How much ground did you buy?”
“I should think he had about four acres staked out.”
“And what did the whole thing cost you, Mr. Prawle?” asked Jack, full of curiosity.
“Well, it cost me $100 down, with $200 to come when I get back with the dust.”
“Pretty cheap for a real copper mine,” spoke up Charlie.
“You don’t s’pose he’d have sold it for that if he’d known as much about it as I did? Not by a jugful.”
“Was he a prospector, too?” inquired Jack.
“Jim Sanders wasn’t much of anything that I know. An old pard of his owned the ground and turned it over to Jim when he died. Sanders thought more of his booze than anything else; that’s why he wanted to realize. He had no use for the ground, and as it hadn’t cost him anything it was like finding money to sell it for anything at all.”
“And you’re going to Chicago to raise money to work the mine—is that your plan?”