“You old duffers ain’t right in your minds,” said Judson to Andy McCann. “Just as loco as you can be. Ye never did make a strike and ye never will——”
“Lots you know about it, Bill,” grumbled McCann, his jaws moving stiffly.
“Well, you never did, did you?” demanded the storekeeper, with twinkling eyes.
“If you were yere twenty years ago——”
“You know derned well I was, Andy,” put in Judson. “Reckon I was. And before.”
“You recommember the flood then?”
“I ain’t lost my mem’ry,” muttered Judson.
“All right. Keep that in yer mind,” said Andy, shaking his head in senile fashion. “There was a discovery made that year that you—nor nobody else in Canyon Pass—knowed anything about. Talk about the mother lode! Well!”
“Is that so?” cried the storekeeper eagerly. “Then why wasn’t it worked? I knowed you and Steve brought in samples of the right stuff; but——”
“Steve,” snarled McCann, his whole manner changing. “That derned rat? Him? He didn’t have no more to do with findin’ that vein——Huh! Huh!” He coughed, fell silent, went out of the store, deaf to any further questions.