He chatted away in a vivacious manner, recounting various reminiscences of the different mountain gorges, here and there, where fine specimens of float rock had been discovered at different times. Again he would tell of some thrilling adventure with the Indians, and marvelous hair-breadth escapes. Gibbons invariably figured in these narratives as one of the principal characters. Presently he said:
“I don’t reckon you met Grim, did you?”
“Rufus Grim?” said Vance; “yes, I had the pleasure of meeting him only a few days ago.”
“I ‘spect,” said Gibbons, “that Rufus Grim is the biggest scoundrel unhung in these diggins. He thinks he’s mighty pert, but Hank Casey and me ‘ll teach him afore long that other people can be a mighty sight perter than what he is. The only hearty, overgrown regret that I’ve never been able to get rid of is that I didn’t twist his neck ten years ago.”
“What grievance have you,” asked Vance, “against Mr. Grim? One would naturally suppose the owner of the richest mine in the Fish River Mining District would be respected instead of disliked.” Steve Gibbons pushed his sombrero back from his forehead, as if to relieve his pent up feelings, swung his long whip twice around his head, and made the welkin ring as he cracked it over the backs of his dappled leaders.
He then expectorated a vigorous “pit-tew” of tobacco juice, and said: “I reckon one can’t always judge by appearances. When Steve Gibbons says that Rufus Grim is a scoundrel, he is a pretty good jedge of what he is sayin’, and he mighty near means what he says, pardner. Somebody’s goin’ to be jerked out of the kinks ‘fore long, and—’twixt ourselves—I think that somebody is Rufus Grim. Hank Casey an’ me are old pards, and we’ve employed B. Webster Legal. He’s the corporation attorney for the Waterville Town Company. You won’t be takin’ no chances, pardner, of bettin’ your last dollar that old Grim will think somebody’s after him with a sharp stick and a diamond drill in the end of it ‘afore B. Webster Legal gets through with him. I tell you, Jedge Legal is a cuss in the court room. He can whip his weight in wild-cats in a law suit. Of course, I don’t mean that he’s goin’ to leave the Town Company; he’ll never do that as long as a lot can be sold—he says so his-self. Hank and I hev made a bargain with him, and old Grim is goin’ to be ousted. The Peacock belongs to Hank Casey and me. What do you think of that?”
“I assure you,” replied Vance, “you interest me very much. I supposed Mr. Grim was the owner of the Peacock.”