The Celestial shook his head.
“Diggee plentee led locks outee minee. Putee samee in flatee boat.”
“Digging red rocks and loading them on a flat-boat. What is the meaning of that, gents? What is this red rock? Is it copper ore?” a new light breaking in on his mind.
“Yes, it’s copper ore,” answered Clymer sulkily, as the admission was reluctantly forced from him. “Now you know what we’re after.”
“You might have made a clean breast of that in the first place. Now, gents, are we pards in this mine?”
“I s’pose we are,” growled Plunkett. “You’ve got us where the hair is short, and we’ve got to take you in whether we like it or not.”
“Let us drink on it, then, and drown all hard feelin’,” said Coffey, making a sign to one of his employes.
The liquor was served, and the three having drained their glasses the Chinaman was dismissed, and Coffey, returning his gun to his pocket, opened the pocketbook.
“What we want, I think, gents, is the bill of sale of the Sanders claim, ain’t it?”
Clymer and Plunkett nodded and looked eagerly at each bit of memoranda brought to light.