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Updated: May 29, 2025
Evidently, his drill had been in the ore, whatever it was, for some time before he realized it; the can was heavy, exceedingly heavy, giving evidence of purity of something at least. But Undertaker Chastine shook his head. "Can't tell," he announced. "Feels heavy, looks black and all that. But it might not be anything but straight lead with a sprinkling of silver.
An hour more found him at the Sampler, watching the ore as it ran through the great crusher hoppers, to come forth finely crumbled powder and be sampled, ton by ton, for the assays by old Undertaker Chastine and the three other men of his type, without which no sampler pays for ore. Bittson approached, grinning. "You guessed just about right," he announced.
"Young man," he queried, "it ain't any of my business, but where 'd you get this ore?" "Out of my mine, the Blue Poppy!" "Sure you ain't been visiting?" "What do you mean?" Fairchild was staring at him in wonderment. Old Undertaker Chastine rubbed his hands on his big apron and continued to look over his glasses. "What 'll you take for the Blue Poppy mine, Son?" "Why it's not for sale."
"'What's the quotation on silver? I asked him." "'Hell, says Old Man Saxby, 'there ain't any quotation! Close 'er up close up everything. They 've passed the demonetization bill, the president 's going to sign it, and you ain't got a job. "And young feller " Old Undertaker Chastine looked over his glasses again, "that was some real disappointment.
"Them was the times when there was a lot of undertakers around here besides me," Chastine went on. "Everybody was an undertaker then. Lor', Boy, how that thing hit. We 'd been getting along pretty well at ninety-five cents and a dollar an ounce for silver, and there was men around here wearing hats that was the biggest in the shop, but that did n't come anywhere near fittin' 'em.
"It must be more than that the drill must have been into it several inches before I ever noticed it. I 'd been scraping the muck out of there without paying much attention. It looked so hopeless." Undertaker Chastine turned to his work. "Then hurry along, Son. I suppose," he asked, as he looked over his glasses for the last time, "that you don't want me to say anything about it?" "Not until "
A queer light came into the old fellow's eyes as he looked into those of Robert Fairchild. "Don't get 'em too high!" he admonished. Fairchild stared. "What?" "Hopes. I 've seen many a fellow come in just like you. I 've been here thirty year. They call me Old Undertaker Chastine!" Fairchild laughed. "But I'm hoping " "Yep, Son." Undertaker Chastine looked over his glasses.
Is it any good?" "Is it good?" Again Old Undertaker Chastine looked over his glasses. "That's just the trouble. It's too good it's so good that it seems there's something funny about it. Son, that stuff assays within a gram, almost, of the ore they 're taking out of the Silver Queen!" "What's that?"
There he sought out old Undertaker Chastine, and with him went to the proprietor. "My name is Fairchild, and I 'm in trouble," he said candidly. "I 've brought Mr. Chastine in with me because he assayed some of my ore a few days ago and believes he knows what it's worth. I 'm working against time to get five thousand dollars.
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