The young man stumbled out, hands above his head, pallid and shaking, so weak he could scarcely stand.
Gulden prodded the bearded miner. “Come out here, you!”
The man appeared to be hunched forward in a heap.
“Guess he's plugged,” said Smith. “But he ain't cashed. Hear him breathe?... Heaves like a sick hoss.”
Gulden reached with brawny arm and with one pull he dragged the miner off the seat and out into the road, where he flopped with a groan. There was blood on his neck and hands. Gulden bent over him, tore at his clothes, tore harder at something, and then, with a swing, he held aloft a broad, black belt, sagging heavy with gold.
“Hah!” he boomed. It was just an exclamation, horrible to hear, but it did not express satisfaction or exultation. He handed the gold-belt to the grinning Budd, and turned to the young man.
“Got any gold?”
“No. I—I wasn't a miner,” replied the youth huskily.
Gulden felt for a gold-belt, then slapped at his pockets. “Turn round!” ordered the giant.
“Aw, Gul let him go!” remonstrated Jesse Smith.