“Oh, I was mad,” smiled Conley. “I was hot-headed in those days. I wanted to get even with you; so I blew over a hundred dollars’ worth of gold-dust into that rotten, red quartz, with a shotgun. I salted it for you, Frank; but before I got a chance to show it to you, you left the country. I hated you for leaving. I hated what I had done so much that I never even tried to hammer the gold out of that little ledge. And that’s what caused all this misery.”
“And it’s been there over twenty-five years, Mose?”
“Yes, my first and last crooked work.”
“Pretty damn good!” exclaimed Mrs. Conley.
“That’s right,” said Hashknife. “I know how they felt. I had a touch of it myself.”
He walked out to the porch and Dawn followed him out.
“Do you realize what you’ve done today?” she asked.
Hashknife looked at her curiously.
“Aw, I didn’t do nothin’,” he said slowly. “It just kinda worked out thataway. I think Jimmy’s lookin’ for you.”
As Dawn turned back to the door, Slim Regan stepped out on the porch, his hat tilted forward. He scratched the back of his hat in evident bewilderment.