A Millionaire of Rough-and-Ready | Page 4

and puzzled.
Meantime, however, the neighbor had apparently finished his pipe, and,
knocking the ashes out of it, rose suddenly, and ended any further
uncertainty of their meeting by walking over directly towards him. The
treasure-finder advanced a few steps on his side, and then stopped
irresolutely.
"Hollo, Slinn!" said the neighbor, confidently.
"Hollo, Masters," responded Slinn, faintly. From the sound of the two
voices a stranger might have mistaken their relative condition. "What in
thunder are you mooning about for? What's up?" Then, catching sight
of Slinn's pale and anxious face, he added abruptly, "Are you sick?"
Slinn was on the point of telling him his good fortune, but stopped. The
unlucky question confirmed his consciousness of his physical and
mental disturbance, and he dreaded the ready ridicule of his companion.
He would tell him later; Masters need not know WHEN he had made
the strike. Besides, in his present vagueness, he shrank from the
brusque, practical questioning that would be sure to follow the
revelation to a man of Masters' temperament.
"I'm a little giddy here," he answered, putting his hand to his head, "and
I thought I'd knock off until I was better."
Masters examined him with two very critical gray eyes. "Tell ye what,
old man!--if you don't quit this dog-goned foolin' of yours in that
God-forsaken tunnel you'll get loony! Times you get so tangled up in
follerin' that blind lead o' yours you ain't sensible!"
Here was the opportunity to tell him all, and vindicate the justice of his
theories! But he shrank from it again; and now, adding to the confusion,
was a singular sense of dread at the mental labor of explanation. He
only smiled painfully, and began to move away. "Look you!" said
Masters, peremptorily, "ye want about three fingers of straight whiskey
to set you right, and you've got to take it with me. D--n it, man, it may
be the last drink we take together! Don't look so skeered! I mean--I
made up my mind about ten minutes ago to cut the whole d--d thing,
and light out for fresh diggings. I'm sick of getting only grub wages out
o' this bill. So that's what I mean by saying it's the last drink you and
me'll take together. You know my ways: sayin' and doin' with me's the
same thing."

It was true. Slinn had often envied Masters' promptness of decision and
resolution. But he only looked at the grim face of his interlocutor with a
feeble sense of relief. He was GOING. And he, Slinn, would not have
to explain anything!
He murmured something about having to go over to the settlement on
business. He dreaded lest Masters should insist upon going into the
tunnel.
"I suppose you want to mail that letter," said Masters, drily. "The mail
don't go till to-morrow, so you've got time to finish it, and put it in an
envelope."
Following the direction of Masters' eyes, Slinn looked down and saw,
to his utter surprise, that he was holding an unfinished pencilled note in
his hand. How it came there, when he had written it, he could not tell;
he dimly remembered that one of his first impulses was to write to his
wife, but that he had already done so he had forgotten. He hastily
concealed the note in his breast- pocket, with a vacant smile. Masters
eyed him half contemptuously, half compassionately.
"Don't forget yourself and drop it in some hollow tree for a letter-box,"
be said. "Well--so long!--since you won't drink. Take care of yourself,"
and, turning on his heel, Masters walked away.
Slinn watched him as he crossed over to his abandoned claim, saw him
gather his few mining utensils, strap his blanket over his back, lift his
hat on his long-handled shovel as a token of farewell, and then stride
light-heartedly over the ridge.
He was alone now with his secret and his treasure. The only man in the
world who knew of the exact position of his tunnel had gone away
forever. It was not likely that this chance companion of a few weeks
would ever remember him or the locality again; he would now leave his
treasure alone--for even a day perhaps--until he had thought out some
plan and sought out some friend in whom to confide. His secluded life,
the singular habits of concentration which had at last proved so
successful had, at the same time, left him few acquaintances and no
associates. And in all his well-laid plans and patiently-digested theories
for finding the treasure, the means and methods of working it and
disposing of it had never entered.
And now, at the hour when he most needed his faculties, what was the
meaning of this strange benumbing of them!

Patience! He only wanted a little