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McCoppet knew the creature was afraid to meet his man that Trimmer's attack on Van Buren, once before, had been planned with much deliberation, had amounted to an ambush, in point of fact, resulting in disaster to the bully. "I counted on you to help me, Larry," he said, drumming on the table with his fingers. "You're the only man of your kind with brains in all the camp."
"Got nuthin'," the lumberman ejaculated. "What's the good of all these lyin' papers when I seen Matt myself, readin' the piece about him goin' back to the pen?" McCoppet rose, went to the window, and returned again. "Larry, you're all right," he said. "Where's Barger now?" Trimmer winked. "That's his business, and mine." "All right that's all right," agreed the gambler.
Lay your cards on the table." Bostwick sat down and leaned across the soiled green baize. "You probably know as much as I do about the 'Laughing Water' claim its richness its owners and where it's located." McCoppet nodded, narrowing his eyes. "A good dog could smell their luck from here." "But do you know where it lies their claim?" insisted Bostwick significantly.
Your claim, I tell you, was on reservation ground, and McCoppet had his crowd on deck at six o'clock this morning. They staked it out, according to law, as the first men on the job after the Government threw it open and there they are." Van leaned against the counter carelessly, and looked at his friend unmoved. "Who told you the story?" he inquired. "Who brought it into camp?"
Then out of his newly-acquired knowledge of the boundaries of the reservation the hounds of his mind jumped up a half-mad plan. His cold eyes glittered as he looked across to where Van and his partners were toiling. His lips were compressed in a smile. He rode to Goldite hurriedly and sought out his friend McCoppet.
"That's the point I'm making at present." "It's just this side of the reservation, from what I hear," replied the gambler, "but if there's nothing on the reservation even near the 'Laughing Water' ground " Bostwick interrupted impatiently: "What's the matter with the 'Laughing Water' being on the reservation?" McCoppet was sharp but he failed to grasp his associate's meaning.
The lumberman, smoking furiously, came to his point with utmost directness. "Opal," he said, "I'm goin' away, and I want ten thousand dollars. I want it now. You owe me some you ain't paid up, and now I'm raisin' the ante." "You're raising bunions," McCoppet assured him softly, throwing away his unsmoked cigar and putting a fresh one in his mouth.
He was making a terrible effort to finish all he had to impart. "Trimmer put me on to all the game. It was him that told me you was goin' through, when I pretty near got you, in the pass." Van's eyes took on a deep intensity. "Trimmer? Trimmer?" "Larry Trimmer Pine-tree Trimmer," explained the convict impatiently. "McCoppet wanted you detained, the day they jumped your claim.
"But it ain't," he said, "and no one claims it is." Bostwick lowered his voice and looked at the gambler peculiarly. "No one claims it yet!" McCoppet threw away his cigar and took out a new one. "Well? Come on. I bite. What's the answer?" Bostwick leaned back in his chair.
"Private room back here," McCoppet announced, and he started to lead the way, pausing for a moment near a faro table to cast a cold glance at the dealer. "Wonderfully interesting game," said Bostwick. "It seems as if a man might possibly beat it." There might have been a shade of contempt in the glance McCoppet cast upon him. He merely said: "He can't." Bostwick laughed. "You seem very positive."
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