Bull stared at him in amazement.
“Don’t want ’em!” he echoed. “In the name of Heaven why not?”
“No good,” said the other, sententiously.
The effect of those two words upon Bull was like that of a bullet; he staggered back against the wall, gasping, his eyes fairly starting out of his head. The others understood dimly and turned pale.
It took several minutes for that idea to dawn upon Bull Harris in all its frightful horror. When he realized it he sprang forward with a shriek.
“No good!” he cried. “Great Heavens, man, what do you mean?”
The proprietor’s response was brief, but effective. He put his hand in his pocket and brought out a shining stone. He rubbed it against the gold and held it up so that Bull might see the color that resulted.
“’Tain’t gold,” said he. “It’s counterfeit.”
Bull staggered back against the wall again. Counterfeit! Counterfeit! He saw it all now! Saw why Mallory had given it up! Saw what a fool he—Bull Harris—had been! Saw that he had let them out of the trap, given them the weapon, the only proof. Let them go in safety, leaving him a chest full of brass. It made Bull sick to think of it. Oh, surely it could not be true!
Another thought flashed over him then. Why had Mallory fought so for it, why been so reluctant to give it up? No, it must be genuine! It must be a mistake! Perhaps those few were bad, but all the coins could not be. Trembling with dread, Bull sprang forward, wrenched the stone from the hand of the astonished “Jake,” burst out of the place, and sped away up the road.