One day he said, a little hesitatingly, and with somewhat of diffidence—­

’Triangle, would you mind coming down to my stateroom a minute, and have a little talk on a certain matter?’

I went with him at once.  Arrived there, he put his head out, glanced up and down the saloon warily, then closed the door and locked it.  He sat down on the sofa, and he said—­

’I’m a-going to make a little proposition to you, and if it strikes you favorable, it’ll be a middling good thing for both of us.  You ain’t a-going out to Californy for fun, nuther am I—­it’s business, ain’t that so?  Well, you can do me a good turn, and so can I you, if we see fit.  I’ve raked and scraped and saved, a considerable many years, and I’ve got it all here.’  He unlocked an old hair trunk, tumbled a chaos of shabby clothes aside, and drew a short stout bag into view for a moment, then buried it again and relocked the trunk.  Dropping his voice to a cautious low tone, he continued, ’She’s all there—­a round ten thousand dollars in yellow-boys; now this is my little idea:  What I don’t know about raising cattle, ain’t worth knowing.  There’s mints of money in it, in Californy.  Well, I know, and you know, that all along a line that ’s being surveyed, there ’s little dabs of land that they call “gores,” that fall to the surveyor free gratis for nothing.  All you’ve got to do, on your side, is to survey in such a way that the “gores” will fall on good fat land, then you turn ’em over to me, I stock ’em with cattle, in rolls the cash, I plank out your share of the dollars regular, right along, and—­’

I was sorry to wither his blooming enthusiasm, but it could not be helped.  I interrupted, and said severely—­

’I am not that kind of a surveyor.  Let us change the subject, Mr. Backus.’

It was pitiful to see his confusion and hear his awkward and shamefaced apologies.  I was as much distressed as he was—­especially as he seemed so far from having suspected that there was anything improper in his proposition.  So I hastened to console him and lead him on to forget his mishap in a conversational orgy about cattle and butchery.  We were lying at Acapulco; and, as we went on deck, it happened luckily that the crew were just beginning to hoist some beeves aboard in slings.  Backus’s melancholy vanished instantly, and with it the memory of his late mistake.

‘Now only look at that!’ cried he; ’My goodness, Triangle, what would they say to it in Ohio.  Wouldn’t their eyes bug out, to see ’em handled like that?—­wouldn’t they, though?’

All the passengers were on deck to look—­even the gamblers—­and Backus knew them all, and had afflicted them all with his pet topic.  As I moved away, I saw one of the gamblers approach and accost him; then another of them; then the third.  I halted; waited; watched; the conversation continued between the four men; it grew earnest; Backus drew gradually away; the gamblers followed, and kept at his elbow.  I was uncomfortable.  However, as they passed me presently, I heard Backus say, with a tone of persecuted annoyance—­