The saloonkeeper drew the pocketbook toward him, but made no movement to open it.
“Well, since you won’t open your mouths, I’ll see if the Chinaman can’t throw a little light on the subject. He’s been there, and there isn’t much that escapes his sharp eyes. I may as well tell you, gents, that I sent him to the creek as much on my own account as on yours. Did you fancy I was such a fool as not to see that there must be somethin’ unusual in your eagerness to get hold of that claim? And I knew the other crowd wouldn’t take the trouble to go and camp out in that wilderness unless somethin’ was doin’. Now, Meen Fun, tell me what you saw down at the creek.”
“Alle light.”
Meen Fun then told his story of how he had reached Beaver Creek about sunrise that morning, how he thought he had fooled Prawle and the boys with his San Francisco yarn, and how he had asked for work.
“Me catchee job wheelee locks in ballow outee minee.”
“Oh, ho; so there’s a mine down there, is there?” laughed Coffey. “Is that your secret, gents? Funny nobody round here knows anythin’ about such a thing. What does it look like, Meen Fun?”
“Holee in lock.”
“Looks like a hole in the rock, eh? Quartz or fine gold, you yaller heathen?”
“No goldee.”
“What! No gold?”