“_They’d_ ’stonish the mounting folks! Thar ain’t no sech dirt-slingers nowhar. But ’pears like ter me, Eugene, they mought be sorter expensive—ef—ef, ye know—it war ter turn out ez thar _warn’t_ silver in payin’ quantities. Ye know bes’, Eugene, what with yer book-larnin’, yer g’ology an’ sech, an’ yer leetle assayin’ consarns, but ez fur ez I kin jedge, ye air powerful welcome ter enny min’ral in them two gorges. I’m willin’ ter gin ye my sheer!” He had spoken gravely, but suddenly a glancing smile lighted up his eyes and curved his lips with so spontaneous an expression of malicious enjoyment that it seemed in his rare relish of the situation his will had lost control of his muscles. He instantly recovered himself, and although he noted the fact that Eugene Rathburn, quietly looking at him, had marked the dropping of the mask, he went on in the same mock-fraternal vein, “I dunno ez I be hopeful ’bout’n it, Eugene—but I wish ye well, I wish ye well, Eugene.” Rathburn was holding his every muscle in a sedulous placidity. There was a conscious, intent, exacting calmness upon his face and in his voice. “Baintree,” he said slowly, “I am glad I slept to-day. I am glad I have my nerves abnormally under my control. Otherwise I should kill you,—I should strike you dead where you are. No man under ordinary circumstances could resist the temptation.” Baintree cast a searching glance upon him; then emboldened by his quiescent aspect, he sneered as he laughed. “Then I’m glad, too, ye slept. Thanky kindly, sir! But I hain’t slept none. An’ I know ye wouldn’t ’low ez I war right perlite ef I war ter kill ye an’ take yer life, kase I hain’t hed my nap. _I’m_ glad, too; I never s’picioned afore how much interest I oughter take in yer sleepin’ sound an’ satisfactory.”