and from that day forth he had not
taken even a drink. It was noted also that nothing was doing in the
direction of developing his mine; and another quality, the rare gift of
reticence, had taken the place of his brag. He sat off by himself,
absent-minded and brooding, which was not like the Rimrock of old.

The first man to break loose from the spell he cast by the flash of his
big roll of bills was L. W. Lockhart, the banker. For some reason best
known to himself Rimrock still carried his roll in his pocket, whereas
any good business man will tell you that he should have deposited it in
the bank. And one thing more--not a man in Gunsight knew the first
thing about his associates in the mine.

"I'll tell you the truth," said the overbearing L. W. as he stood
arguing with Rimrock in front of the Alamo, "I don't believe you've got
any company. I believe you went East with that two thousand dollars
and won a stake at gentleman's poker; and then you come back, with your
chest all throwed out, and get mysterious as hell over nothing."

"Well, what do you care?" answered Rimrock scornfully. "You don't
stand to win or lose, either way!"

"Nope! Nope!" pronounced Hassayamp positively, "he's got a company--I
know that. I reckon that's what worries him. Anyhow, they's something
the matter; he ain't took a drink in a week. Seems like when he was
broke he was round hyer all the time, jest a-carousin' and invitin' in
the whole town; and now when he's flush and could buy me out with that
little wad right there in his jeans, he sits here, by George, like a
Keeley graduate, and won't even drink when he's asked."

"Well, laugh," grumbled Rimrock as Old Hassayamp began to whoop, "I
reckon I know what I'm doing. When you've got nothing to lose except
your reputation it don't make much difference what you do; but when
you're fixed like I am, with important affairs to handle, a man can't
afford to get drunk. He might sign some paper, or make some agreement,
and euchre himself out of millions."

"Aw! Millions! Millions!" mocked L. W., "your mine ain't worth a
million cents. A bunch of low-grade copper on the Papago Desert, forty
miles on a line from the railroad and everything packed in by burros.
Who's going to buy it? That's what I ask and I'm waiting to hear the
answer."

He paused and waited while Rimrock smiled and felt thoughtfully through
his clothes for a match.

"Well, don't let it worry you," he said at la