Before he had finished talking David had recklessly dragged his blue shirt tails free from his trousers and was fumbling at a money belt concealed beneath. “Cash talks,” he said tersely, as he produced his belt, and entirely unconscious of the amazed grins of two or three other spectators in the lobby, jerked the belt loose and proceeded to tuck his shirt tails back into a more conventional shape. “I don’t know what a theodolite costs; but there’s nigh on to a thousand dollars in this leather, and if that ain’t enough, I reckon Tom here’ll lend me some till I can get to the bank to-morrer mornin’.” The engineers, amused, named prices far more modest than David had expected, and he breathed a huge grunt of relief. “Well,” he said, “that’s mighty nice of you. You won’t lose nothin’ by bein’ good fellers, if ever you come my way. I’m off now. Got to get back to-night, so’s to try to persuade Uncle Bill not to shoot up anybody else. It’s gol-darned expensive, shootin’ up folks is.” And despite their urgent dissuasions he departed, considerably relieved in mind; but it was nearly dawn when he awoke Goliath in their cabin to tell him of his success. Very diplomaticaly the partners decided that the best time to visit Old Harmless would be in the evening, lest he be alarmed or be rendered suspicious by their appearance at an unusual hour. They trudged into his clearing, with David in advance carrying two or three phonograph records they had been waiting to present. They discovered that the windows of the cabin had been barred with heavy saplings, and then, as they rounded the cabin, found the defiant Uncle Bill sound asleep on a bench in front of his door, with his patriarchal beard sweeping over his chest, and his rifle resting across his lap. He looked pathetically old and tired. When aroused by their hail he sprang to his feet, peered at them and made certain who they were before he laid his rifle aside, after which he told them of his distress. They listened patiently until he had talked himself to a mournful and dejected silence, and Goliath watched David, wondering what decision his partner would make, and what he might say. “Well, Uncle Bill,” David said at last, “it’s tough luck. You say the sheriff told you that old Newport owns this land and----” “Claims it! Drat him! Claims it! But that there don’t make him own it, do it?” roared the patriarch, shaking his fists upward in exasperation. “So,” David went on calmly, and paying no heed to Uncle Bill’s anger, “I reckon it’ll have to be decided by the courts.” “Courts be damned!” roared Old Harmless. “Let ’em try to take it away from me and drive me out of here. Me, that found this place first, before any other white man ever come here! That diskivered the diggin’s, and worked ’em, and saw this when she was a camp and----”