American fiction -- 19th century; California -- Fiction; Western stories
It was quite plain from this that Collinson had heard nothing. But it
was also awkward, as Key would now have to tell the whole story, and
reveal the fact that he had been really experimenting when Collinson
overtook him in the hollow. He evaded this by post-dating his
discovery of the richness of the ore until he had reached Marysville.
But he found some difficulty in recounting his good fortune: he was
naturally no boaster, he had no desire to impress Collinson with his
penetration, nor the undaunted energy he had displayed in getting up
his company and opening the mine, so that he was actually embarrassed
by his own understatement; and under the grave, patient eyes of his
companion, told his story at best lamely. Collinson's face betrayed
neither profound interest nor the slightest resentment. When Key had
ended his awkward recital, Collinson said slowly:--
"Then Uncle Dick and that other Parker feller ain't got no show in this
yer find."
"No," said Key quickly. "Don't you remember we broke up our
partnership that morning and went off our own ways. You don't
suppose," he added with a forced half-laugh, "that if Uncle Dick or
Parker had struck a lead after they left me, they'd have put me in it?"
"Wouldn't they?" asked Collinson gravely.
"Of course not." He laughed a little more naturally, but presently
added, with an uneasy smile, "What makes you think they would?"
"Nuthin'!" said Collinson promptly.
Nevertheless, when they were seated before the fire, with glasses in
their hands, Collinson returned patiently to the subject:
"You wuz saying they went their way, and you went yours. But your way
was back on the old way that you'd all gone together."
But Key felt himself on firmer ground here, and answered deliberately
and truthfully, "Yes, but I only went back to the hollow to satisfy
myself if there really was any house there, and if there was, to warn
the occupants of the approaching fire."
"And there was a house there," said Collinson thoughtfully.
"Only the ruins." He stopped and flushed quickly, for he remembered
that he had denied its existence at their former meeting. "That is,"
he went on hurriedly, "I found out from the sheriff, you know, that
there had been a house there. But," he added, reverting to his
stronger position, "my going back there was an accident, and my picking
up the outcrop was an accident, and had no more to do with our
partnership prospecting than you had. In fact," he said, with a
reassuring laugh, "you'd have had a better right to share in my claim,
coming there as you did at that moment, than they. Why, if I'd have
known what the thing was worth, I might have put you in--only it wanted
capital and some experience." He was glad that he had pitched upon that
excuse (it had only just occurred to him), and glanced affably at
Collinson. But that gentleman said soberly:--
"No, you wouldn't nuther."
"Why not?" said Key half angrily.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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