“I see you air all admirin’ my stove,” said he, “and I’ll bet you’ve been a-wonderin’ why it is up so high.”
“Yes, we have,” said the professor; “how did you know it?”
“People most allus generally jest as soon as they come into the place begin to ask me about it—that’s how I knowed.”
“Well, why is it up so high?” demanded the stock-broker impatiently, with a side glance at the well-developed jack-pot on the table.
“The reason’s simple enough,” said Long Tom, with a grin that showed his bicuspids; “you see we had to pack all this stuff up here from down below on burros. Originally there was four j’ints of that stove-pipe, but the cinch wasn’t drawed tight enough on the burro that was carryin’’em, and two of’em slipped out and rolled down the mountain. When we got here and found that there wasn’t but two pieces left, I reckoned that I would have to kinder h’ist the stove to make it fit the pipe—so I jest in an’ h’isted her. And thar she is yet. Say, what’s all this here money on the table for?”
There was a deep silence which lasted so long that Tom ventured to repeat his question about the money.
“It is a jack-pot,” said the doctor, sadly, “and as near as I can make out, it belongs to you.”
THE SEATS OF JUDGMENT
By C. W. Doyle
I.