“What other towns have you in this state,” asked Vance. “None to speak of,” was the prompt reply. “Butte City is the pertest town in any o’ these western diggings. Thar’s not another town in Montana as can tech one side of us, for money, marbles, or chalk. To be sure,” he went on, in a condescending tone, “we have lots o’ towns in this ‘ere state, sech as they be; lots o’ minin’ camps, but they are merely blacksmith-shops-on-the-crossroads,’ compared with Butte City. D’ye see that Corner lot over thar’. Five years ago I owned the ground whar’ that buildin’ stands. I bought it for $300, held it just thirteen months, and sold it for $4,000 spot cash.” “Why that was an immense profit,” said Vance, with more interest than he had yet manifested in Hank Casey’s description of Butte City. Hank Casey smiled contentedly and expectorated an accumulation of tobacco juice with a resounding “pit-tew” on the side walk, and said: “You call that a good profit? Why, pardner, I bought stock in the Blackbird mine at twelve cents a share when the company was fust organized, and now its worth $300 a share and payin’ an immense dividend monthly. That’s what I call a good investment; but as fer that speck,” [44] said he, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the corner lot, “that don’t amount to nothin’.” “Do you know where Gold Bluff, Idaho, is?” asked Vance. “I reckon I ought to know,” replied the boomer; “me an’ Steve Gibbons were the fust prospectors in that ‘neck o’ the woods.’ Steve an’ I claim to own the Peacock, but old Rufus Grim, the biggest scoundrel in Idaho yes, the biggest in this whole minin’ country claims to own it, and has got possession, and I’ve learned, in this western country ‘specially, that possession is not only nine points of the law, but mighty near ten. Of course, a gold mine like the Peacock is a mighty handy thing to have in the family, but as a general rule, they’re mighty unsartin. Give me a silver or copper mine every time.” Vance assured his new-found acquaintance that he was under many obligations for the information received, and said he hoped to meet him again. Hank Casey, however, was not to be disposed of in this way, and walked along with Vance. Presently he called his attention to some vacant lots across the street. “D’ye see them lots over thar? I can sell you one o’ them fifty-foot lots at $3,500. an I’ll bet diamonds against peanuts it’ll be a rich buy at $10,000 before two years. By the way, stranger, what’s the matter with you takin a leetle ‘flyer’ in Butte City dirt? Buy a few lots, stop here with us for six months, sell ‘em out agin for 100 per cent, profit, an’ that’ll pay all the expenses of your western trip. See? said he, touching Vance gently in the ribs with his elbow. “Yes; I see,” said Vance, “I see very clearly, or would, [45] were it not for the smoke. It smells like sulphur. Does it come from some of your mills or smelters?”