“Huh!” grunted Queeder. He had dreamed of getting the money at once and making off all by himself, but here was this talk of sixty days, which might mean something or nothing. “Well,” said the prospector, noting Queeder’s dissatisfaction and deciding that he must do something to make the deal seem more attractive, “suppose we say seven thousand, then, and I put down $500 cash into your hands now? How’s that? Seven thousand in sixty days and five hundred in cash right now. What do you say?” He reached in his pocket and extracted a wallet thick with bills, which excited Queeder greatly. Never had so much ready money, which he might quickly count as his if he chose, been so near him. After all, $500 in cash was an amazing amount in itself. With that alone what could he not do? And then the remainder of the seven thousand within sixty days! Only, there were his wife and two children to consider. If he was to carry out his dream of decamping there must be great secrecy. If they learned of this—his possession of even so much as five hundred in cash—what might not happen? Would not Dode or his wife or Jane, or all three, take it away from him—steal it while he was asleep? It might well be so. He was so silent and puzzled that the stranger felt that he was going to reject his offer. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said, as though he were making a grand concession. “I’ll make it eight thousand and put up eight hundred. How’s that? If we can’t arrange it on that basis we’ll have to drop the matter, for I can’t offer to pay any more,” and at that he returned the wallet to his pocket. But Queeder still gazed, made all but dumb by his good fortune and the difficulties it presented. Eight thousand! Eight hundred in cash down! He could scarcely understand. “T’day?” he asked. “Yes, to-day—only you’ll have to come with me to Arno. I want to look into your title. Maybe you have a deed, though—have you?” Queeder nodded. “Well, if it’s all right I’ll pay you the money at once. I have a form of agreement here and we can get some one to witness it, I suppose. Only we’ll have to get your wife to sign, too.” Queeder’s face fell. Here was the rub—his wife and two children! “She’s gotta sign, hez she?” he inquired grimly, sadly even. He was beside himself with despair, disgust. To work and slave so all these years! Then, when a chance came, to have it all come to nothing, or nearly so! “Yes,” said the prospector, who saw by his manner and tone that his wife’s knowledge of it was not desired. “We’ll have to get her signature, too. I’m sorry if it annoys you, but the law compels it. Perhaps you could arrange all that between you in some way. Why not go over and talk to her about it?”