"You don't trust the Germans any too much, do you, Wedekind?"
"I don't!" There was veiled bitterness in the older man's voice. "I know them. My brother Heinrich, he writes to me—he asks me to. . . Never mind—never mind! But I tell you I know them. I know their virtues. But I also know—the other side. Tom," he went on very insistingly, "don't you sell that mine. If it's worth half a million to them, as a gamble, a gamble, mind you. . ."
"It's worth that same to me. I'm on. Sure. And I'll have all the joy of developing the property, of working it, of seeing my fortune grow. Why, Wedekind," he went on enthusiastically, "it's bully, perfectly bully! it makes me feel strong, and powerful, and. . ."
Wedekind made a hurried, anxious gesture. "You don't own control, do you?"
"No. It's an even fifty-fifty split with 'Old Man' Truex."
"And he told you he wanted nothing more to do with the mine." He rose. "All right. I'll talk to him. Where does he stay?"
"Up at Eslick's."
"Wait for me here. I'll fix it up for you."
And when Wedekind, ten minutes later, reached the old prospector's dusty, bare room in the Eslick, he found him in the act of lighting his pipe with something that looked suspiciously like a twisted-up cablegram.
He looked up when Wedekind entered.
"Hullo," he said hospitably; "sit down and reach on the shelf yonder. You'll find some liquor there that ain't so bad." He laughed. "Say, Wedekind, some damn fool's tryin' to play a joke on me. Sends me a
