“Just so–a square gambler.”
I digested this in silence for a moment.
“Did you discover anything for yourself?” I asked at last.
“Best job ever invented,” said Johnny triumphantly, “at three ounces a day; and I can’t beat that at your beastly digging.”
“Yes?” I urged.
“I invented it myself, too,” went on Johnny proudly. “You remember what Randall–or the doctor–said about the robberies, and the bodies of the drowned men floating? Well, every man carries his dust around in a belt because he dare not do anything else with it. I do myself, and so do you; and you’ll agree that it weighs like the mischief. So I went to Randall and I suggested that we start an express service to get the stuff out to bank with some good firm in San Francisco. He fell in with the idea in a minute. My first notion was that we take it right through to San Francisco ourselves; but he says he can make satisfactory arrangements to send it in from Sacramento. That’s about sixty miles; and we’ll call it 294 a day’s hard ride through this country, with a change of horses. So now I’m what you might call an express messenger–at three good ounces a day.”
“But you’ll be killed and robbed!” I cried.
Johnny’s eyes were dancing.
“Think of the fun!” said he.
“You’re a rotten shot,” I reminded him.