"Five real cents! Oh, you reckless boy!" gurgled Jack.
Deeply crestfallen, Pete Colliver rose to his feet. The violence of his fall had taken all the fight out of him for the moment.
"I didn't have a fair chancet," he snarled. "Jist wait, feller; I ain't done with ye yit."
"Don't have any hard feelings, Pete." Dave, breathing hard, extended his hand. "Shake!"
"The only thin' that'll git shook is you, fat un; an' it'll be afore long, too."
Colliver's face reflected all the angry passions which surged within him, and his fists were clenched, as he stalked to and fro.
It was not in Dave's nature to crow over a victory. With a wave of his hand he stilled the comments of his enthusiastic friends.
Pete spoke again:
"Think nobody won't have none o' that gold mine but yerselves, do yer?" he sneered.
"Cut it out, Pete," stormed Jim Reynolds. "Boys," he added, turning toward the Ramblers, "as yer champeen wrastler says," he smiled in a conciliatory fashion—"we don't want no hard feelin's."