The fat features of Dickover purpled with anger. But he suppressed his emotion, drew another cigar from his pocket, and lighted it. “I rather suspected it, Bowen,” he squeaked more calmly. “Of course you didn’t sell him the stock?” “No. I’ll sell it to you if you want it.” “Huh! How much you want?” “Five dollars a share.” Dickover abandoned the subject, after an apoplectic choke. “Tell you what, Bowen; that tip of yours sent me up to Tonopah in a hurry. I looked up Henderson and fired him—fired him good and hard. The confounded crook! Now I need another man to take his place. A man I can trust, and a man who can be trusted. Ten thousand a year if the man makes good.” “Too bad you didn’t look around at Tonopah,” said Bowen innocently. “I know heaps of good men up that way. You should have gone to Judge Lyman or Tom Jerkens or some of those men and had ’em pick you out a nice responsible party for that job. They know everybody up there. Where do you get these cigars? Think I’ll buy me a box.” Dickover smoked for a moment in silence. Then he laughed. “I did snoop around up there, Bowen,” he remarked at last. “What kind of a cuss are you? This morning you couldn’t pay your hotel bill; and now you turn down a ten-thousand-dollar job!” Bob Bowen sighed. “Well, I do say that it’s tempting. It’s just that, Dickover. But now I’ve got responsibilities, such as that Apex Crown stock.” “Huh! Well, you know those mines you told me about—the Sunburst and the Golden Lode? I looked ’em up in Tonopah. How much you want for ’em both?” Bowen looked up, genuinely startled. “You want to _buy_?” “Uhuh. If the price is right.” Bowen grinned. “Say, this is pretty rich! Listen here. An hour ago I was talking with Henderson, and talking soft. Somehow he got the notion that you were waiting here to buy those two claims off me. Savvy? He jumps into the breach with five thousand, which is now mine. The claims are his—” Dickover purpled with indignation. “You sold out to him; that dirty yellow dog? What the jumping devils do you mean by it? Why didn’t you sell to me—” “Now, you just pour some ice-water over your scalp and cool off.” Bowen’s long, lean forefinger shot out at him. “How the jumping devils did I know you wanted to buy those claims? How did I know you wanted _any_ low-grade stuff? In yesterday’s paper you said you did _not_ want it—you’ve never touched it before—” Dickover waved his hand in helpless resignation. “Oh, shut up, Bowen! Let me think, will you?” For a space the two men smoked in silence. Dickover’s fat features were tensed in frowning thought. To Bowen but one thing was patent: the magnate was now after low-grade silver ores. If he had not sold those two claims to Henderson in such a hurry! He had certainly been hoist with his own petard that time! The thought made him chuckle. At the sound, Dickover began to speak slowly.