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Updated: May 31, 2025
He apologized in haste, before Wunpost could make a reach for him, and then he recanted in detail, and when the tumult was over they had signed a joint agreement to give him one third of the mine. "All right, boys," he yelled, thrusting his copy into his pocket and making a dash for his horse. "One third! It's all right with me! But if we'd gone to the courts I'd got half, sure as shooting!
But even at that he was taking a chance, or so at least it seemed, for the look in the Apache's eye as he had limped off up the gulch reminded Wunpost of a broken-backed rattlesnake. He was a bad Indian and a bad actor one of these men that throw butcher-knives and yet Wunpost had tamed him and set him afoot and come off with his back-hair, as promised.
"I sure would!" replied Wunpost; "you leave them sacks alone. And any time my word ain't as good as gold " "Oh, of course it's good!" she protested, and he took her at her word. "All right, then I've got the gold." "Oh, have you really?" she cried, and as he rolled his eyes accusingly she laughed and bit her lip. "That's just my way of talking," she explained, rather lamely.
"Big fat man," he lied and Wunpost smiled grimly he would tell this later to Eells. "Nope," he said and shook his head warningly at which the Indian seemed to meditate his plight. "Big tall man," he amended and Wunpost nodded. "Sure," he said. "What name you callum?" "Callum Lynchie," admitted the Apache with a sickly grin, "she come San Carlos busca scout."
"Why, sure there was arsenic," returned Wunpost mockingly, "don't you know that rank, fishy smell? But don't blame me it was God Almighty that threw the mixture together. And didn't I leave you a drink in that empty can? Well, where is your proper gratitude?" He ogled him sarcastically and Lynch took a step forward, only to halt as Wunpost stepped to meet him.
"Say, for cripes' sake," he wailed, "ain't they any short-cut home? I'm so lame I can hardly walk." "Well, there is," admitted Wunpost, "I could have you home by morning. But you might take to dropping that gold, like you did them Boston beans, and I'd come back to find my mine jumped." "Oh, I won't drop no gold!" protested Fellowes earnestly, "and them beans was just for a joke.
I hope he kills you, if you try to do it I would, if I were him. What'd you do with that five thousand dollars?" "Eh eh that's none of your business," bleated Dusty Rhodes, whose trip to Los Angeles had proved disastrous. "And if Wunpost gave Hungry that sack of ore he stole it from some other feller's mine.
He tossed off the drink, but when he looked for the chaser the barkeeper shook his head. "No chasers," he said, "water is too blasted scarce that'll be three dollars and twenty-five cents." "Charge it to ground-rent!" grinned Wunpost. "I'm the man that owns this claim. See you later where's Dusty Rhodes?" "No cash!" demanded the barkeeper, looking him coldly in the eye.
The whole town of Blackwater had risen up in the night and gone streaking across the Sink, and what was to keep those envious pocket-miners from claiming the find for their own? And Dusty Rhodes he must have led the stampede had he respected his partners' rights? She gazed a long moment, then darted back through the tunnel and bore the news to her father and Wunpost.
He drew out a sheaf of bills and flicked the ends temptingly, but Billy shook her head. "No," she said, "because you don't dare to show the place where you claim you dug up that gold and you told Mr. Eells you stole it!" "Heh, heh!" chuckled Wunpost, "you keep right up with me, kid. Don't reckon I can give you any present.
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