Into the heart of this walked another prospector one morning rejoicing, like the first one, at his find. Like all good business men he was concerned to see the owner only and demanded that Queeder be called.
“Oh, Paw!” called Jane from the rickety doorway. “Thar’s some one hyur wants tuh see yuh!”
Old Queeder looked warily up from his hot field, where he had been waiting these many days, and beheld the stranger. He dropped his weed fighting and came forward. Dode drifted in from somewhere.
“Pretty dry weather we’re having, isn’t it?” remarked the stranger pleasantly meeting him halfway in his approach.
“Yes,” he replied vacantly, for he was very, very much worn these days, mentally and physically. “It’s tol’able dry! Tol-able dry!” He wiped his leathery brow with his hand.
“You don’t know of any one about here, do you, who has any land for sale?”
“Ye’re another one uv them min’l prowspecters, I projeck, eh?” inquired Queeder, now quite openly. There was no need to attempt to conceal that fact any longer.
The newcomer was taken aback, for he had not expected so much awareness in this region so soon. “I am,” he said frankly.
“I thought so,” said Queeder.
“Have you ever thought of selling the land here?” he inquired.