“Pshaw! Well, let it go then. I don’t know much about ore. Do you know anythin’ about minin’ laws, pardner?”
Mica Jones frowned. It was difficult for him to keep his eyes off that piece of crumbly red ore.
“Little bit,” he said. “Whatcha want to know?”
“Ain’t there some kind of a minin’ law that lets you go on a man’s ranch and locate a mine, if you can prove it’s worth more for mineral than it is for agriculture?”
Mica Jones carefully placed the piece of ore on a shelf behind him, drew out a plug of tobacco and bit off a huge portion.
“Yea-a-ah, I think there is. It was tried out five year ago. Feller jumped in on a ranch about ten mile below here and located a mine. Quoted that law and got a bullet plumb through him. They tried this rancher for murder, and the lawyer orated that this dead client was actin’ accordin’ to law; but the jury exonerated him without leavin’ their seat. It kinda set a precedent, you see. Out here—” Mica shifted his chew thoughtfully—“out here, you can hold what you’ve got, pardner.”
“That’s a good system,” agreed Hashknife. “Thanks for the opinion. Never mind assayin’ that stone.”
“Oh, that’s all right; come in ag’in’.”
“Thank you.”
Hashknife went to the hotel and found Horse-Collar and Lovely with Sleepy, who was resting easily. The doctor had been there and changed the dressing.