It turned as the wise ones had begun to apprehend. The Flim Flam Murphy was a two-million dollar wonder. The talented Chicken Bill had overreached himself. With no hope beyond a plan to salt a claim, he had not thought to secure an assay for himself. The Flim Flam Murphy loomed upon mankind as Timberline’s richest strike. Pike’s Peak Martin was the first to collect himself. Crawling from beneath that landslide of amazement which had caught and covered Timberline, he visited the Belle Union with a resolved air. Pointedly but fully Pike’s Peak Martin tendered himself in marriage to Dead wood Maggie. That lady did not hurl a butter-dish; such feats would seem too effervescent on the part of a gentlewoman worth five hundred thousand dollars. Deadwood Maggie blushed with drooping lids as she heard the words of Pike’s Peak Martin. “Which your offer shore makes a hit with me,” murmured Deadwood Maggie. Then, when a moment later, her head lay on Pike’s Peak Martin’s shoulder like some tired flower at rest, Deadwood Maggie gave a sigh, and lifting her eyes to the deep inquiring gaze of Pike’s Peak Martin, she whispered: “You’re the only gent I ever loved.” THE END. End of Project Gutenberg's The Black Lion Inn, by Alfred Henry Lewis