Rimrock Jones | Page 2

stopped to talk

with Hassayamp.
"Well, bless my soul," exclaimed the watchful Hassayamp as he
suddenly brought his chair down with a bump, "if hyer don't come that
locoed scoundrel, Rimrock! Say, that boy's crazy, don't you know he
is--jest look at that big sack of rocks!"
He rose up heavily and stepped out into the street, shading his eyes
from the glare of the sun.
"Hello thar, Rimmy!" he rumbled bluffly as the horseman waved his
hand, "whar you been so long, and nothin' heard of you? There's been a
woman hyer, enquirin' for you, most every day for a month now!"
"'S that so?" responded Rimrock guardedly. "Well, say, boys, I've
struck it rich!"
He leaned back to untie a sack of ore, but Old Hassayamp was not to be
deterred.
"Yes sir," he went on opening up his eyes triumphantly, "a widdy
woman--says you owe her two-bits for some bread!"
He laughed uproariously at this pointed jest and clambered back to the
plank sidewalk where he sat down convulsed in his chair.
"Aw, you make me tired!" said Rimrock shortly. "You know I don't
owe no woman."
"You owe every one else, though," came back Hassayamp with a Texas
yupe; "I got you there, boy. You shore cain't git around that!"
"Huh!" grunted Rimrock as he swung lightly to the ground. "Two bits,
maybe! Four bits! A couple of dollars! What's that to talk about when a
man is out after millions? Is my credit good for the drinks? Well, come
on in then, boys; and I'll show you something good!"
He led the way through the swinging doors and Hassayamp followed
ponderously. The card players followed also and several cowboys,

appearing as if by miracle, lined up along with the rest. Old Hassayamp
looked them over grimly, breathed hard and spread out the glasses.
"Well, all right, Rim," he observed, "between friends--but don't bid in
the whole town."
"When I drink, my friends drink," answered Rimrock and tossed off his
first drink in a month. "Now!" he went on, fetching out his sack, "I'll
show you something good!"
He poured out a pile of blue-gray sand and stood away from it
admiringly.
Old Hassayamp drew out his glasses and balanced them on his nose,
then he gazed at the pile of sand.
"Well," he said, "what is it, anyway?"
"It's copper, by grab, mighty nigh ten per cent copper, and you can
scoop it up with a shovel. There's worlds of it, Hassayamp, a whole
doggoned mountain! That's the trouble, there's almost too much! I can't
handle it, man, it'll take millions to do it; but believe me, the millions
are there. All I need is a stake now, just a couple of thousand
dollars----"
"Huh!" grunted Hassayamp looking up over his glasses, "you don't
reckon I've got that much, do you, to sink in a pile of sand?"
"If not you, then somebody else," replied Rimrock confidently. "Some
feller that's out looking for sand. I heard about a sport over in London
that tried on a bet to sell five-pound notes for a shilling. That's like me
offering to sell you twenty-five dollars for the English equivalent of
two bits. And d'ye think he could get anyone to take 'em? He stood up
on a soap box and waved those notes in the air, but d'ye think he could
get anybody to buy?"
He paused with a cynical smile and looked Hassayamp in the eye.

"Well--no," conceded Hassayamp weakly.
"You bet your life he could!" snapped back Rimrock. "A guy came
along that knowed. He took one look at those five-pound notes and
handed up fifty cents."
"'I'll take two of 'em,' he says; and walks off with fifty dollars!"
Rimrock scooped up his despised sand and poured it back into the bag,
after which he turned on his heel. As the doors swung to behind him
Old Hassayamp looked at his customers and shook his head
impressively. From the street outside Rimrock could be heard telling a
Mexican in Spanish to take his horse to the corrals. He was master of
Gunsight yet, though all his money had vanished and his credit would
buy nothing but the drinks.
"Well, what d'ye know about that?" observed Hassayamp meditatively.
"By George, sometimes I almost think that boy is right!"
He cleared his throat and hobbled towards the door and the crowd took
the hint to disperse.
On the edge of the shady sidewalk Rimrock Jones, the follower after
big dreams, sat silent, balancing the sack of ore in a bronzed and
rock-scarred hand. He was a powerful man, with the broad, square-set
shoulders that come from much swinging of a double jack or cranking
at a windlass. The curling beard of youth had covered his hard-bitten
face and his