Nevertheless, when the man came opposite to the Havens’ house, he crossed the road and came up to the porch on which Chet’s father sat. He was a broadly smiling man; but his eyes did not smile. They were little and sharp and altogether too near each other to be honest. “I reckon you’re Mr. Havens?” queried the stranger, putting out a hand that Mr. Havens did not appear to see. He was busy re-tamping his pipe just then. “Yes, sir,” said the mine owner. “I’m the man.” “You’ve got an interest in a mine up yonder?” said the stranger, nodding toward the mountain that loomed above the town. “Another man and I own the Silent Sue,” was the serious answer. “Shucks! I don’t mean that,” exclaimed the visitor jovially. “What do you mean, then?” asked Mr. Havens. “Not that it’s any of my business.” “Sure it’s your business,” cried the stranger. “I’ve come here to talk to you about it.” “About what?” “The Crayton claim.” “Oh!” Mr. Havens eyed him silently and with much curiosity. But he had learned to wait and let the other man do the talking. That was why he was so successful in business. “Yes,” said the stranger. “I got hold of a share of the Crayton claim in a curious way. And I’d like to own it all, Mr. Havens. I learn at the Office of Record that you own a part. Will you sell?” “That’s odd,” said Chet’s father slowly, and still examining the stranger with serious gaze. “I became possessed of a share of the claim in a curious way, too, and I want to control it. Will you sell, Stranger?” “No. I tell you I want to buy,” said the man, with some warmth. “I didn’t come here to peddle my share.” “And I didn’t ask you to come,” said Mr. Havens softly. “I don’t want to sell.” “I’ve come here prepared to buy,” declared the man blusteringly. “Sorry. Looks like a deadlock to me,” said Mr. Havens coolly. “By the way, what is your name, Stranger?” “Steve Brant. You don’t know me,” said the man ungraciously. “No. You’re not at home in Silver Run, I take it?” “No, I’m not.” “Nothing particular to bring you here but a desire to buy my interest in the Crayton claim?” “No,” repeated the man. “Then,” drawled Mr. Havens, “there’s nothing to keep you from taking the next stage-coach out. It leaves the Silver Run Hotel this afternoon at two.” The man who called himself Brant flushed dully under Mr. Havens’ tone of raillery; but he managed to control his temper. “You’d better think it over, Mr. Havens. I can give you a good trade.” “Don’t want to trade.” “You’re not the only man I can deal with!” exclaimed Steve Brant, looking at the mine owner slyly. “No?” “I can get control without buying _you_ out.” “That so?” returned Mr. Havens with apparent curiosity. “Yes. You’re not the only one who owns a bit of the Crayton claim. There may not be ten cents’ worth of pay ore left in it, but I have a fancy to open it up.” “Everybody ought to be free to follow his fancy,” said Mr. Havens cheerfully.