"That's up to me," the gambler began fiercely. Then he checked himself, and suddenly became quite grieved. "Wal, Zip, I wouldn't ha' b'lieved it. I sure wouldn't. But ther'--life's jest self. It's all self. You're like all the rest. I've been chasin' a patch o' good pay dirt ever since I bin around Sufferin' Creek, an' it's only now I've found one to suit me. I sure thought you'd let me in on it. I sure did. Howsum, you won't. You want it all yourself. Wall, go ahead. An' you needn't worry about what I told you this morning. My word goes every time. This ain't going to make no difference. I'm not goin' to squeal on that jest because you won't 'blige me." He made as though to return his dollars to his pocket. He had turned away, but his shrewd eyes held his companion in their focus. He saw the flush of shame on Scipio's face. He saw him open his mouth to speak. Then he saw it shut as he left his tub and came towards him. Bill waited, his cunning telling him to keep up his pretense. Scipio did not pause till he laid a hand on his arm, and his mild eyes were looking up into his keen, hard face. "Bill," he said, "you can have ha'f my claim and--and I'll take your dollars. I jest didn't guess I was bein' selfish about it--I didn't, truth. I was thinkin' o' you. I was thinkin' you might lose your bills. Y'see, I haven't had the best of luck--I--" But the gambler's face was a study as he pushed his hand off and turned on him. There was a fine struggle going on in his manner between the harshness he wished to display and the glad triumph he really felt. "Don't slob," he cried. "Here's the bills. Stuff 'em right down in your dip. Ha'f that claim is mine, an' I'll have the papers wrote reg'lar. I didn't think you was mean, an' I'm glad you ain't." Scipio took the money reluctantly enough, and pushed it into his pocket with a sigh. But Bill had had enough of the matter. He turned to go, moving hastily. Then, of a sudden, he remembered. Thrusting his hand into a side pocket of his jacket he produced a paper parcel. "Say, Zip, I come nigh forgettin'," he cried cheerfully. "The hash-slinger down at Minky's ast me to hand you this. It's for the kiddies. It's candy. I'd say she's sweet on your kiddies. She said I wasn't to let you know she'd sent 'em. So you ken jest kep your face closed. So long." He hurried away like a man ashamed. Scipio had such a way of looking into his eyes. But once out of sight he slackened his pace. And presently a smile crept into his small eyes, that set them twinkling. "Guess I'm every kind of a fule," he muttered. "A thousand dollars! Gee! An' ther' ain't gold within a mile of the doggone claim--'cep' when Zip's ther'," he added thoughtfully. CHAPTER XX HOW THE TRUST BOUGHT MEDICINE