Chapter XXIV: Colonel Dodge

Denver doubted it, himself, for human nature is much the same in man and woman and Drusilla had been sorely slighted; but the Oraculum had said that her heart was yearning towards him and the Book of Fate had always spoken true. Perhaps women _were_ different, but if it had been done to him, he would have called down black curses instead. Yet women were different, one could never guess their moods, and perhaps Drusilla would forgive him. Not right away, of course, but after her blood had cooled and he had written a proper letter. He would let it go awhile, until he had framed up some excuse or decided to tell her the truth, and in the meantime there was plenty of work to do that would help him forget his sorrow. There was his mine, and McGraw had brought up some powder.

There was something in the air which seemed to whisper to Denver of portentous happenings to come, and as he was sharpening up his steel for a fresh assault upon the ore-body a big automobile came into town. It stopped and a big man wearing a California sombrero and a pair of six-buckle boots leapt out and led the way to the Lost Burro. Behind him followed three men attired as gentlemen miners and as Denver listened he could hear the big man as he recited the history of the mine. Undoubtedly it was the buyer of the Lost Burro Mine, with a party of "experts" and potential backers who had come up to look over the ground; yet something told Denver that there was more behind it all. He felt their eyes upon him. They spent a few minutes looking over the old workings, and then they came stringing up his trail.

"Good afternoon, sir," hailed the promoter, "are you the owner of this property? Well, I'd like with your permission to show my friends some of your ore--why, what's this, have you hauled it away?"

"Yes, I shipped it out yesterday," answered Denver briefly and the big man glanced swiftly at his friends.

"Well, I'm Colonel Dodge--H. Parkinson Dodge--you may have heard the name. I'm your neighbor here on the south--we've taken over the Lost Burro property. Yes, glad to know you, Mr. Russell." He shook hands and introduced his friends all around, after which he came to the point. "We've been looking at the Lost Burro and one of the gentlemen suggested that it might be well to enlarge our property. That would make it more attractive to worth-while buyers and at the same time prevent any future litigation in case our ore-bodies should join. You understand what I mean--there's such a thing as apex decision and of course you hold the higher ground. Well, before we do any work or tie up our money we would like to know just exactly where we stand in relation to surrounding properties. What price do you put on your claim?"

"No price," answered Denver. "I don't want to sell. Are you thinking of opening up the Lost Burro?"

"That will all depend," hinted the Colonel darkly, "upon the attitude of the people in the district. If we meet with encouragement we intend to form a company and spend hundreds of thousands of dollars; but if not, why we will charge up our option money to profit and loss and seek out a less backward community. What is your lowest price on your claim?"

"A million dollars--cash," responded Denver cheerfully. "Now you come through and make me an offer."

"Well," began the Colonel, and then he stopped and glanced suggestively at the tunnel. "We'd like to look it over first."

"Fair enough," replied Denver and, giving each a candle, he led them into the tunnel. They looked the ore over, making indifferent comments and asking permission to take samples, and then Colonel Dodge took one of his experts aside and they conferred in muffled tones.

"Er--we'd rather not make an offer just now," said the Colonel at last; and in a silent procession they returned to the daylight, leaving Denver to follow behind. The atmosphere of the group was now reeking with gloom but after a long conference the Colonel came back, summoning up the ghost of a smile. "Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Russell," he began apologetically, "we saw some of your ore before we came up and we were all of us most enthusiastic. The copper in particular was very promising but the gentleman I was talking with is our consulting engineer and he advises me not to buy the property."

"All right," answered Denver, "you don't have to buy it. I never saw one of these six-buckle men yet that wouldn't knock a good claim." He turned back angrily to his job of tool-sharpening and the Colonel followed after him solicitously.

"Don't misunderstand me," he said, "there's nothing I'd like better than to buy in this neighboring property--if I could get it at a reasonable figure; but Mr. Shadd advises me that your ore lies in a gash-vein, which will undoubtedly pinch out at depth."

"A gash-vein!" echoed Denver, "why the poor, ignorant fool--can't you see that the vein is getting bigger? Well, how can it be a gash-vein when it's between two good walls and increasing in width all the time? Your friend must think I'm a prospector."

"Oh, no," protested the Colonel smiling feebly at the joke, "but--well, he advises me not to buy. The fact that the ore is so rich on the surface is against its continuance at depth. All gash-veins, as you know, are very rich at the surface; so in this case the fact is against you. But I tell you what I will do--just to protect my other property and avoid any future complications--I'll give you a thousand dollars for your claim."

"Whooo!" jeered Denver, "I'll get more than that for the ore I just sent to the smelter. No, I'm no thousand-dollar man, Mr. Dodge. I've got a fissure vein and it's increasing at depth, so I guess I'll just hold on a while. You wait till old Murray begins to ship!"

"Ah--er--well, I'll give you fifteen hundred," conceded the Colonel drawing out his check-book and pen. "That's the best I can possibly do."

"Well save your check then, because I'm a long ways from broke. What d'ye think of that for a roll?" Denver drew out his roll of prize money, with a hundred dollar bill on top, and flickered the edges of the twenties. "I guess I can wait a while," he grinned. "Come around again, when I'm broke."

"I'll give you a thousand dollars down and nine thousand in six months," burst out the Colonel with sudden vehemence. "Now it's that or absolutely nothing. If you try to hold me up I'll abandon my option and withdraw entirely from the district."

"Sorry to lose you, old-timer," returned Denver genially, "but I guess we can't do business. Come around in about a month."

A sudden flash came into the Colonel's bold eyes and he opened his mouth to speak--then he paused and shut his mouth tight.

"Not on your life, Mr. Russell," he said with finality, "if I go I will not come back. Now give me your lowest cash price for the property. Will you accept ten thousand dollars?"

"No, I won't," answered Denver, "nor a hundred thousand, either. I'm a miner--I know what I've got."

"Very well, Mr. Russell," replied Colonel Dodge crisply and, bowing haughtily, he withdrew.

Denver looked after him laughing, but something about his stride suddenly wiped away the grin from Denver's face--the Colonel was going somewhere. He was going with a purpose, and he walked like a man who was perfectly sure of his next move--like a man who has seen a snake in the road and turns back to cut a club. It was distinctly threatening and a light dawned on Denver when the automobile turned off towards Murray's camp. That was it, he was an agent of Murray.

Denver sharpened up his steel and put in a round of holes but all that day and the next his uneasiness grew until he jumped at every sound. He felt the hostility of Colonel Dodge's silence more than any that words could express; and when, on the second day, he saw Professor Diffenderfer approaching he stopped his work to watch him.

"Vell, how are you?" began the Professor, trying to warm up their ancient friendship; and then, seeing that Denver merely bristled the more, he cast off his cloak of well-wishing. "I vas yoost over to Murray's camp," he burst out vindictively, "and Dave said he vanted his gun."

"Tell 'im to come over and get it," suggested Denver and then he unbuckled his belt. "All right," he said handing over the gun and cartridges, "here it is; I don't need it, anyhow." The Professor blinked and looked again, then reached out and took the belt doubtfully.

"Vot you mean?" he asked at last as his curiosity got the better of him, "have you got anudder gun somevhere? Dot Dave, he svears he vill kill you."

"That's all right," replied Denver, "just give him his gun--I'll take him on any day, with rocks."

"How you mean 'take him on?'" inquired the Professor all excitement but Denver waved him away.

"Go on now," he said, "and give him his gun. I guess he'll know what I mean."

But if Chatwourth understood the hidden taunt he did not respond to the challenge and Denver's mind reverted to H. Parkinson Dodge and his flattering offers for the mine. Ten thousand dollars cash, from a mining promoter, was indeed a princely sum; better by far than the offer of half a million shares that went with Bunker's option. For stock is the sop that is thrown to poor miners in lieu of the good hard cash, but ten thousand dollars was a lot of money for a promoter to pay for a claim. It showed that there were others beside himself who believed in the value of his property, yet who this Colonel Dodge was or who were his backers was a question that only Bunker could answer. Denver waited in a sweat, now wondering if Bunker would speak to him, nor exulting in the offer for his mine; and when at last he saw Bunker Hill drive in he threw down his tools and hurried towards him.

But Bunker Hill was surly, he barely glanced at Denver and went on caring for his horses; and Denver did not crowd him. He waited, and at last Old Bunk looked up with jaw thrust grimly out.

"Well?" he said, and Denver forgot everything but the question that was on his tongue.

"Say," he burst out, "who is this Colonel Dodge that came up and bought your mine? Is he working for Murray, or what?"

"Search me," grumbled Bunker, "I got his thousand dollars, and that's about all I know."

"He was up here to see me the same day you left, with a whole load of six-buckle experts; and say, he offered me a check for ten thousand dollars if I'd sell him the Silver Treasure claim. And when I refused it he got into his machine and went right over to Murray's. I'll bet you you're sold out to Bible-Back."

"Well, he's stuck then," said Bunker. "I guess you haven't heard the news--Murray's closed down his camp for good."

"He has!" exclaimed Denver, and then he laughed heartily. "He's a foxy old dastard, isn't he?"

"You said it," returned Bunker. "Never did have any ore. Just pretended he had in order to sell stock and recoup what he'd lost on the drilling. They're offering the stock for nothing."

"Who's offering it?" demanded Denver suddenly taking the matter seriously. "I'll bet you it's nothing but a fake!"

"All right," shrugged Bunker, "but I met a bunch of miners and they were swapping stock for matches. Old Tom Buchanan down at Desert Wells won't accept it at any price--that shows how much it's a fake."

"Aw, he pulled that once before," answered Denver contemptuously, "but he don't fool me again. Like as not he's made a strike and is just shutting down so he can buy back the stock he sold."

Bunker looked up and grunted, then gathered together his purchases and ambled off towards the house.

"That's all you think about, ain't it?" he said at parting. "I'll mention it when I write to Drusilla."

"Oh--oh, yes," stammered Denver suddenly reminded of his dereliction, "say, how did she happen to go? And I want to get her address so I can explain how it happened--I wouldn't have missed seeing her for anything!"

"No, of course not," growled Bunker, "not for anything but your own interests. You can go to hell for your address."

"Why, what do you mean?" demanded Denver; but as Bunker did not answer he fell back and let him go on.