And that quartz lead will justify a
fifty-thousand-dollar mill. So I'm told by an expert I took in to look
it over. And, say, I went in by the ranch. Old Jake has a fine
garden. He's still pegging away with the mule 'und Gretchen, der cow.'
I offered him a chance to make a fat little stake at the mine, but he
didn't want to leave the ranch. Great old feller, Jake. Something of
a philosopher in his way. Pretty wise old head. He'll make good, all
right."
In the morning, Bill ate his breakfast and started downtown.
"That's the dickens of being a business man," he complained to Hazel,
in the hallway. "It rides a man, once it gets hold of him. I'd rather
get a machine and go joy riding with you than anything else. But I
have to go and make a long-winded report; and I suppose those fellows
will want to talk gold by the yard. Adios, little person. I'll get
out for lunch, business or no business."
Eleven-thirty brought him home, preoccupied and frowning. And he
carried his frown and his preoccupation to the table.
"Whatever is the matter, Bill?" Hazel anxiously inquired.
"Oh, I've got a nasty hunch that there's a nigger in the woodpile," he
replied.
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