“You can trust me, Baker,” he said, persuasively, “and it may be that I could be of assistance to you.”
There was something like an actual tremor of agitation in Pole's rough hand as he drew his little nugget from its resting-place at the bottom of his pocket. With a deep, indrawn breath, he handed it to Craig. “Is that thar little lump gold or not?” he asked.
Craig started visibly as his eyes fell on the piece of gold. But he took it indifferently, and examined it closely.
“Where did you run across that?” he asked.
“I want to know ef it's the puore thing,” answered Pole.
Craig made another examination, obviously to decide on the method he would apply to a situation that claimed all his interest.
“I think it is,” he said; “in fact, I know it is.”
Pole took it eagerly, thrust it back into his pocket, and said:
“Mr. Craig, I know whar thar's a vein o' that stuff twenty yards thick, runnin' clean through a mountain.”
“You do!” Craig actually paled under his suppressed excitement.