“The diggings are rich as mud,” replied the hotel man dispassionately. “It’s a prosperous camp all right.”
“You don’t ’wash’ yourself?” I asked.
“Not I! I make more than my ‘ounce a day’ right here.” He jerked his thumb at his hotel.
“A good many ‘loafers,’” I suggested.
He looked at me steadily, hesitated for a moment, then evidently changed his mind.
“Quite a few,” he agreed.
At this moment the negro boy appeared, closely followed by the man with the blue coat and white beaver hat whom I had taken for an eccentric gambler. This man walked slowly up to face me.
259“Well, sir?” he demanded. “I am told I can be of service. In what way?”
His piercing black eye held mine with a certain high arrogance.
“Professionally, doctor,” I replied. “A friend of mine is lying badly hurt in a nearby hut.”