"Not yet," he said. "Not yet. I ain't seen it, anyway. I sure think there's gold in plenty on that claim. I know there is," he added, with unusual force, his pulses beginning to quicken, and a sudden hope stirring. Bill's accusation was aiding the effect. "But it ain't on the surface. It sure ain't." He stood wondering, all his washing forgotten in this newly raised hope so subtly stirred by the gambler. Had someone else discovered what he had missed for so long? He hadn't been near his claim for some days. Had someone--? "Who says about the gold?" he demanded, with sudden inspiration. "The folks." The gambler passed the point without committing himself. Scipio shook his head, puzzling. Something must surely have transpired, and yet-- "You got me beat, Bill. You have, sure." The smile that accompanied his words was good to see. But somehow the gambler found the far horizon of more interest just then. "You're a wide one all right," he said thoughtfully. "There's no gettin' upsides with you. Give me them quiet, simple sort o' fellers every time. They got the gas machine beat so far you couldn't locate him with a forty-foot microscope. Gee!" He chuckled, and turned again to contemplate his companion, much as he would a newly discovered wonder of the world. But poor Scipio was really becoming distressed. He hoped, merely because the other forced him to hope, by his own evident sincerity. But the charge of shrewdness, of conspiring to keep a secret he had never possessed, worried him. "I take my oath I don't know a thing, Bill," he declared earnestly. "I sure don't. You've got to believe me, because I can't say more. I seen my claim days back, an' I hadn't a color. I ain't seen it since. That's fact." It was strange to see how readily the disbelief died out of the other's face. It was almost magical. It was as though his previous expression had been nothing but acting and his fresh attitude the result of studied preparation.