“‘Pardner uh mine,’ I interrupts, ‘drink yore liquor and ferget them little ol’ books fer oncet. Fer old Tellurium’s sake I’m glad he’s struck it rich. We’ll amble up there tomorrow, and if she’s as rich as Peters says she is we’ll——’
“‘Yah!’ snorts Magpie. ‘Don’t talk Peters to me, Ike! I’m uh man of peaceful pursuits, but if I ever lays eyes on that little dancin’ derby hat uh his I’m goin’ to shoot.’
“Peters is workin’ fer our interests, Magpie, and——’
“‘Listen, Ike.’ Magpie takes me by th’ arm and leads me out of th’ saloon. ‘Uh grog-shop, Ike, ain’t no place to discourse on scientific themes.’
“He leads me around the corner of th’ building.
“‘Remember our bet on Tellurium’s driftin’ average, Ike?’
“I replies that I’ve uh hazy recollection of it.
“‘Well, Ike, winnin’ that hundred from you, coupled with th’ assistance of one Peters, has lost us th’ Daylight mine,’ he announces slow and distinct. ‘Psychology ——! Remember that old copper bolt that was in our shack, Ike? Well, I—I took that bolt and ground her up, and salted his danged mine!’”
THE END
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the August, 1916 issue of Adventure magazine.