They had hoped to keep the existence of the copper deposit in the background.
Now they realized that they would have to let the saloonkeeper into the secret, and once they did that they did not doubt but he would demand an interest in the mine in return for his silence and co-operation.
“Well, gents, am I with you in this?” asked Coffey, with a significant look, regarding his two patrons complacently, as if he believed he had them in a tight place, “or——”
What he was going to add never transpired, for at that moment the little, wiry form of Meen Fun appeared at the entrance to the saloon, and then like a shadow glided up to the table where the three men sat, and dropped Gideon Prawle’s pocketbook midway between them, a grin, child-like and bland, resting on his yellow countenance.
For a moment the group was taken by surprise, then three hands reached for the tempting object, and, as it happened, the saloonkeeper’s fingers were undermost and closed firmly around the pocketbook.
“That belongs to us,” cried Clymer, eagerly. “By what right——”
“Don’t lose your tempers, gents,” said Coffey, coolly, reaching for his revolver with his disengaged right hand and whisking it out in a jiffy. “Let’s come to an understandin’ in this matter. Good things are not so plentiful ’round hereabouts that I’m lettin’ one go by me when the chance offers. Come now, own up. What have you discovered at Beaver Creek?”
Both Clymer and Plunkett looked at him in sulky defiance.
“Take your hands off my fist, will you?” demanded Coffey, menacing them with his gun.
They obeyed the order with manifest reluctance.