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  Death Valley was celebrating his sudden rise to affluence by a resort to the flowing bowl and when Virginia stepped in she found all three phonographs running and a two-gallon demijohn on the table. Death Valley himself was reposing in an armchair with one leg wrapped up in a white bandage and as she stopped the grinding phonographs and made a grab for the demijohn he held up two fingers reprovingly.

  “I’m snake-bit,” he croaked. “Don’t take away my medicine. Do you want your Uncle Charley to die?”

  “Why, Charley!” she cried, “you know you aren’t snake-bit! The rattlesnakes are all holed up now.”

  “Yes–holed up,” he nodded; “that’s how I got snake-bit. It was fourteen years ago, this month. Didn’t you ever hear of my snake-mine–it was one of the marvels of Arizona–a two-foot stratum of snakes. I used to hook ’em out as fast as I needed them and try out the oil to cure rheumatism; but one day I dropped one and he bit me on the leg, and it’s been bad that same month ever since. Would you like to see the bite? There’s the pattern of a diamond-back just as plain as anything, so I know it must have been a rattler.”

  He reached resolutely for the demijohn and took a hearty drink whereat Virginia sat down with a sigh.

  “I’ll tell you something,” went on Charley confidentially. “Do you know why a snake shakes its tail? It’s generating electricity to shoot in the pisen, and the longer a rattlesnake rattles─”

  “Oh, now, Charley,” she begged, “can’t you see I’m in trouble? Well, stop drinking and listen to what I say. You can help me a lot, if you will.”

  “Who–me?” demanded Charley, and then he roused himself up and motioned for a dipper of water. “Well, all right,” he said, “I hate to kill this whiskey─” He drank in great gulps and made a wry face as he rose up and looked around.

  “Where’s Heine?” he demanded. “Here Heine, Heine!”

  “You drove him under the house,” answered Virginia petulantly, “playing all three phonographs at once. Really, it’s awful, Charley, and you’d better look out or mother will give you the bounce.”

  “Scolding women–talking women,” mused Charley drunkenly. “Well; what do you want me to do?”

  “I’m notscolding!” denied Virginia, and then as he leered at her she gave way weakly to tears. “Well, I can’t help it,” she wailed, “she scolds me all the time and–she simply drives me to it.”

  “They’ll drive you crazy,” murmured Charley philosophically. “There’s nothing to do but hide out. But I must save the rest of that whiskey for the Colonel.”

  He reached for the demijohn and corked it stoutly, after which he turned to Virginia.

  “Do you want some money?” he asked more kindly, bringing forth his roll as he spoke. “Well here, Virginny, there’s one hundred dollars–it’s nothing to your Uncle Charley. No, I got plenty more; and I’m going up the Ube-Hebes just as soon as I find my burros. They must be over to Cottonwood–there’s lots of sand over there and Jinny, she’s hell for rolling. No, take the money; I got it from Wiley Holman and he’s got plenty more.”

  He dropped it in her lap, but she jumped up hastily and put it back in his hands.

  “No, not that money,” she said, “but listen to me, Charley; here’s what I want you to do. I’ve got some stock in the Paymaster Mine that Wiley was trying to buy; but now–oh, you saw how he treated me yesterday–he wouldn’t take it, if he knew. But Charley, you take it; and the next time you see him–well, try to get ten cents a share. We want to go away, Charley; because the mine is closed down and─”

  “Yes, yes, Virginny,” spoke up Death Valley, soothingly, “I’ll get you the money, right away.”

  “But don’t you tell him!” she warned in a panic, “because─”

  “You ought to be ashamed,” said Charley reprovingly and went out to hunt up his burros. Virginia lingered about, looking off across the desert at the road down which Wiley had sped, and at last she bowed her head. Those last words of Charley’s still rang in her ears and when, towards evening, he started off down the road she watched him out of sight.

  It was a long, dry road, this highway to Vegas, but twenty miles out, at Government Wells, there was water, and a good place to camp. Charley stopped there that night, and for three days more, until at last in the distance he saw Wiley’s white racer at the tip of a streamer of dust. He went by like the wind but when he spied Charley he slowed down and backed up to his camp.

  “Hel-lo there, Old Timer,” he hailed in surprise, “what are you doing, away out here?”

  “Oh, rambling around,” responded Charley airily, waving his hand at the world at large. “It’s good for man to be alone, away from them scolding women.”

  The shadow of a smile passed over Wiley’s bronzed face and then he became suddenly grim.

  “Bum scripture, Charley,” he said, nodding shortly, “but you may be right, at that. What’s the excitement around beautiful Keno?”

  “I don’t know,” lied Charley. “Ain’t been in town since you was there, but she was sure booming, then. Say, I’ve got some stock in that Paymaster Mine that I might let you have, for cash. I’m burnt out on the town–they’s too many people in it–I’m going back to the Ube-Hebes.”

  “Well, take me along, then,” suggested Wiley, “and we’ll bring back a car-load of that gold. Maybe then I could buy your stock.”

  “No, you buy it now,” went on Charley insistently. “I’m broke and I need the money.”

  “Oh, you do, eh?” jested Wiley. “Still thinking about that wedding trip? Well, I may need that money myself.”

  “Eh, heh, heh,” laughed Charley, and drawing forth a package he began to untie the strings. “Eh, heh; yes, that’s right; I’ve been watching you young folks for some time. But I’ll sell you this stock of mine cheap.”

  He unrolled a cloth and flashed the certificates hopefully, but Wiley did not even look at them.

  “Nope,” he said, “no Paymaster for me. I wouldn’t accent that stock as a gift.”

  “But it’s rich!” protested Charley, his eyes beginning to get wild. “It’s full of silver and gold. I can feel the electricity when I walk over the property–there’s millions and millions, right there!”

  “Oh, there is, eh?” observed Wiley, and, snatching away the certificates, he ran them rapidly over. “Where’d you get these?” he asked, and Death Valley blinked, though he looked him straight in the eyes.

  “Why, I–bought ’em,” he faltered, “and–the Colonel gave me some. And─”

  “How much do you want for them?” snapped Wiley, and Charley blinked again.

  “Ten cents a share,” he answered, and Wiley’s stern face hardened.

  “You take these back,” he said, “and tell her I don’t want ’em.”

  “Who–Virginny?” inquired Death Valley, and then he kicked his leg and looked around for Heine.

  “Now, here,” spoke up Wiley, “don’t go to slapping that dog. How much do you want for the bunch?”

  “Four hundred dollars!” barked Charley, and stood watchful and expectant as Wiley sat deep in thought.

  “All right,” he said, and as he wrote out the check Death Valley chuckled and leered at Heine.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XII

  The Expert

  Like the way of an eagle in the air or the way of a man with a maid, the ways of a mining promoter must be shrouded in mystery and doubt. For when he wants to buy, no man will sell; and when he wants to sell, no man will buy; and when he will neither buy nor sell he is generally suspected of both. Wiley Holman had two fights and a charge of buckshot to prove that he wanted the Paymaster, and the fact that he had refused a half interest for nothing to prove that he did not want it. Also he had sold his tax-title to the property for the sum of one hundred dollars. What then did it signify when he bought Virginia’s despised stock for four hundred dollars, cash down? The man who could answer that could explain the way of a man with a maid.

  Samuel J. Blou
nt made the claim–and he had his pile to prove it–that he could think a little closer than most men. A little closer, and a little farther; but the Paymaster had been his downfall. He had played the long game to get possession of the mine, only to find he had bought a white elephant. Every day that he held it he had thrown good money after bad and he sent out a search party for Wiley Holman. Wiley had refused half the mine, but that only proved that half of the mine did not appeal to him–perhaps he would take it all. Samuel J. had been a student for a good many years in the school of predatory business and he had learned the rules of the game. He knew that the buyer always decried the goods and magnified each tiny defect, whereas the seller by as natural a process played up every virtue to the limit. But any man who inspected the goods was a potential buyer of the same, and Wiley had shown more than a passing interest in the fate of the unlucky Paymaster. And Wiley was a mining engineer.

  They met in the glassed-in office of Blount in the ornate Bank of Vegas and for a half an hour or more Wiley sat tipped back in his chair while Blount talked of everything in general. It was a way he had, never to approach anything directly; but Wiley favored more direct methods.

  “I understood,” he remarked, bringing his chair down with a bang, “that you wanted to see me on business?”

  “Yes, yes, Wiley,” soothed Blount, “now please don’t rush off–I wanted to see you about the Paymaster.”

  “Well, shoot,” returned Wiley, “but don’t ask my advice, unless you’re ready to pay for it.”

  He tipped back his chair and sat waiting patiently while Blount unraveled his thoughts. He could think closer than most men, but not quicker, and the Paymaster was a tangled affair.

  “I have been told,” he began at last, “that you are still buying Paymaster stock. Or at least–well, a check of yours came through here endorsed by Death Valley Charley, and Virginia Huff. Oh, yes, yes; that’s your business, of course; but here’s the point I’m coming to; it won’t do you any good to buy in that stock because I’ve got a majority of it right here in my vault. If you want to control the Paymaster, don’t go to someone else–I’m the man you want to see.”

  He tapped himself on the breast and smiled impressively, and Wiley nodded his head.

  “All right,” he said imperturbably, “when I want the Paymaster Mine I’ll know right where to go.”

  “Yes, you come to me,” went on Blount after a minute, “and I’ll do the best I can.” He paused expectantly, but Wiley did not speak, so he went on blandly, as before. “The stock, of course, is nonassessable and the taxes are very small. I intend from now on to keep them paid up, so there will be no further tax sales. The stock of Mrs. Huff, which I now hold as collateral security, is practically mine already, as she has defaulted on her first month’s interest and is preparing to leave the state. Of course, there is the stock which your father is holding–as I calculate, something over two hundred thousand shares–and what little remains outside; but if you are interested in the mine I am the man to talk to, so what would you like to propose?”

  “Well,” began Wiley, and then he stopped and seemed to be lost in thought. “I’ll tell you,” he said, “I was interested in the Paymaster–I believe there’s something there; but I’ve got some other propositions that I can handle a little easier, so if you don’t mind we’ll wait a while.”

  “No, but Wiley,” protested Blount as his man rose up to go, “now just sit down; I’m not quite through. Now I know just as well as you do that you take a great interest in that mine. Your troubles with Mrs. Huff and Stiff Neck George prove conclusively that such is the case; and I am convinced that, either from your father or some other source, you have valuable inside information. Now I must admit that I’m not a mining man and my management was not a success; but with your technical education and all the rest, I am convinced that the results would be different. No, there’s no use denying it, because I know myself that you’ve been buying up Paymaster stock.”

  “Sure,” agreed Wiley, “I bought four hundred dollars worth. That would break the Bank of Vegas. But you’ve got lots of money–why don’t you hire a competent mining man and go after that lost ore-body yourself?”

  “I may do that,” replied Blount easily, “but in the meantime why not make me a reasonable offer, or take the mine on shares?”

  “If the Paymaster,” observed Wiley, “was the only mine in the world, I’d make you a proposition in a minute. But a man in my position doesn’t have to buy his mines, and I never work anything on shares.”

  “Well, now Wiley, I’ve got another proposition, which you may or may not approve; but there’s no harm, I hope, if I mention it. You know there’s been a difference between me and your father since–well, since the Paymaster shut down. I respect him very much and have nothing but the kindliest feelings towards him but he–well, you know how it is. But I have been informed, Wiley, that since Colonel Huff’s death, your father has been bidding for his stock. In fact, I have seen a letter written to Mrs. Huff in which he offers her ten cents a share. Now, of course, if you want to gain control of the company, I’m willing to do what’s right; and so, after thinking it over, I have come to the conclusion that I will accept that offer now.”

  “Umm,” responded Wiley, squinting his eyes down shrewdly, “how much would that come to, in all?”

  “Well, twenty-one thousand, eight hundred dollars, for what I received from Mrs. Huff; but of course–well, he’d have to buy a little more of me in order to get positive control.”

  “How much more?” asked Wiley, but Blount’s crooked mouth pulled down in a crafty smile.

  “We can discuss that later,” he suggested mildly. “Do you think he will buy the stock?”

  “Not if he takes my advice,” answered Wiley coldly. “I can buy the whole block for eight hundred.”

  “How?”

  “Why, by loaning Mrs. Huff the eight hundred dollars with which to take up her note.”

  “I doubt it,” replied Blount, and his mild, deceiving eyes took on the faintest shadow of a threat. “Mrs. Huff has defaulted on her first month’s interest and, according to the terms of her note, the collateral automatically passes to me.”

  “Well, keep it, then,” burst out Wiley, “and I hope to God you get stuck for every cent. Your old mine isn’t worth a dam’!”

  “Why–Wiley!” gasped Blount, quite shaken for the moment by this disastrous piece of news, “what reason have you for thinking that?”

  “Give me a hundred dollars as an advising expert and I’ll tell you–and show you, too.”

  “No, I hardly think so,” answered Blount at last. “And, Wiley, you don’t think so, either.”

  “No?” challenged Wiley. “Well, you just watch my smoke and see whether I do or not.”

  He had closed the door before Blount dragged him back like a haggling, relentless pawn-broker.

  “Make me a proposition,” he clamored desperately, “and if it’s anywhere in reason I’ll accept it.”

  “All right,” answered Wiley, “but show me what you’ve got–I don’t buy any cat in a bag.”

  “And will you make me an offer?” demanded Blount hopefully. “Will you take the whole thing off my hands?”

  “I will if it’s good–but you’ll have to show me first that you’ve got a controlling share of the stock. And another thing, Mr. Blount, since our time is equally valuable, let’s cut out this four-flushing stuff. If I’d wanted your mine so awfully bad I’d have held on to it when the title was mine; but I turned it back to you, just to let you look it over, and to keep the peace for once. But now, if you’re satisfied, I might look it over; but it’ll be under a bond and lease. The parties I represent are strictly business, and we make it a rule to tie everything up tight before we put out a cent. I’ll want an option on every share you have, and I can’t offer more than ten per cent royalty; but to compensate for that I’ll agree to pay in full or vacate within six months from date.”

  “But how much?”
demanded Blount, brushing aside all the details, “how much will you pay me a share?”

  “I’ll pay you,” stated Wiley, “what I paid Death Valley Charley, and that’s five cents a share.”

  “Five cents!” shrilled Blount, rising up in protest, yet jumping at the price like a trout, “five cents–why, that’s practically nothing!”

  “Just five cents more than nothing,” observed Wiley judicially and waited for Blount to rave.

  “But your father,” suggested Blount with a knowing leer, “is in the market at ten.”

  “No, not in the market. He offered that to the Widow, but now the deal is off, because all of her stock has changed hands.”

  “Well, the stock is the same,” suggested Blount insinuatingly. “Give me seven and a half and split the profits.”

  “Now don’t be a crook,” rapped out Wiley angrily. “Just because you would rob your own father doesn’t by any means prove that I will.”

  “Well, you certainly implied,” protested Blount with injured innocence, “that this stock was to be sold to your father. And if it is worth that to him, why is it worth less to you? You must be working together.”

  “No, we’re not,” declared Wiley. “I’m in on this alone, and have been, from the start. And just to set your mind at rest–he didn’t make that offer because he wanted the stock, but to kind of help out the Widow.”

  “Ah,” smiled Blount, and nodded his head wisely, but there was a playful light in his eyes.

  “Yes–ah!” flashed back Wiley, “and if you think you’re so danged smart I’ll let you keep your old mine a few months.”

  He started for the door again but Blount dragged him back and laid a metal box on the table.

  “Well, let’s get down to business,” he said with quick decision, and spread a heap of papers before his eyes. “There are all my Paymaster shares, and if you’ll take them off my hands you can have them for six cents, cash.”

  “I said five,” returned Wiley, as he ran through the papers, “and an option to buy in six months. But this stock of the Widow’s–I can’t take that at any price–the Colonel isn’t legally dead.”