HE next morning Vance met his old acquaintance, Hank Casey.
“Good morning, Mr. Casey,” said Vance, cheerily.
“Hello, pardner,” was the laconic and somewhat dejected reply.
“I haven’t seen you for some time,” said Vance.
“No, I’ve been prospectin’ round these ‘ere diggin’s, but I guess I won’t stay much longer. The court decided agin Steve Gibbons an’ me. I think I’ll go back to Butte City afore long. She’s the pertest minin’ camp in the ‘hull country.”
“You say the court has decided against you?” repeated Vance.
“Yes,” he replied, “Steve Gibbons an’ we had a law suit agin’ Rufus Grim over the Peacock. B. Webster Legal is a pretty cute lawyer, an’ for a time he made it bilin’ hot for old Grim, but somehow on the show-down we got done up. It don’t make much difference how cute a feller’s lawyer is, when the court’s prejudiced all out o’ shape. I sometimes think old Grim has a ‘nuf sight better title to the court of this ‘ere district than he has to the Peacock mine.”
“Your friend Gibbons,” said Vance, “told me sonnies thing of this law suit, and I rather expected, with the assistance of an attorney like B. Webster Legal, you would succeed in establishing your claim. You have my sympathy if an injustice has been done you.”
“Oh, it wa’n’. no fault of Lawyer Legal, I can tell you, he’s a hummer, and a mighty social chap in the bargain; but this ‘ere game isn’t played to a finish yet, pardner, not by several great, big moves on the chess board. You see, we’ve appealed it to the higher courts, but they’re so dangnation slow that a feller had better get a hustle on hisself while he’s waitin’ for a decision or he’ll starve. When old Grim has his neck broken, honest people may then get their just deserts.” He seemed dejected, and soon after took his leave, saying that he was going into the mountains to do a little prospecting.