“‘No-o—­not exactly,’ says I; ’but I do want to hear something about mines.  Mr. Hotel-man out there (who’s a gentleman of the old school if ever there lived one) told me that you might put me on to a good thing.’

“‘Precisely,’ says he.  ’Now, sir, my name is Jones—­Agamemnon G. Jones—­and my pardner, Mr. H. Smith, is on a business trip, selling shares of our mine, which we have called “The Treasury” from reasons which we can make obvious to any investor.  The shares, Mr. ------’

“‘Saunders—­Red Saunders—­Chantay Seeche Red.’

“’Mr. Saunders, are fifty cents apiece, which price is really only put upon them to avoid the offensive attitude of dealing them out as charity.  As a matter of fact, this mine of ours contains a store of gold which would upset the commercial world, were the bare facts of its extent known.  There is neither sense nor amusement in confining such enormous treasure in the hands of two people.  Consequently, my pardner and I are presenting an interest to the public, putting the nominal figure of fifty cents a share upon it, to save the feelings of our beneficiaries.’

“‘What the devil do I care?’ says I.  ’I’m looking for a chance to dig—­could you tell a man where to go?’

“‘Oh!’ says he, ’when you come to that, that’s different.  Strictly speaking, my pardner Hy hasn’t gone off on a business trip.  As a matter of fact, he left town night before last with two-thirds of the money we’d pulled out of a pocket up on Silver Creek, in the company of two half-breed Injuns, a Chinaman, and four more sons-of-guns not classified, all in such a state of beastly intoxication that their purpose, route, and destination are matters of the wildest conjecture.  I’ve been laying around town here hating myself to death, thinking perhaps I could sell some shares in a mine that we’ll find yet, if we have good luck.  If you want to go wild-catting over the hills and far away, I’m your huckleberry.’

“‘That hits me all right,’ says I.  ’For, what I don’t know about mining, nobody don’t know.  When do we start?’

“‘This, or any other minute,’ says he, getting up from the table.

“‘Wait till I finish up these eggs,’ says I.  ’And there’s a matter of one drink coming to me outside—­I may as well put that where it won’t harm any one else before we start.’

“‘All right!’ says he, waving his hand.  ’You’ll find me outside—­at your pleasure, sir.’

“I swallered the rest of my breakfast whole and hustled out to the bar, where my friend and the Hotel-man was waiting.  ’Now I’ll take that drink that’s coming, and rather than be small about it, I’ll buy one for you too, and then we’re off,’ says I.

“‘You won’t do no such thing,’ says the Hotel-man.  ’It’s a horse on me, and I’ll supply the liquor.  Mr. Jones is in the play as much as anybody.’