ut if there's nothing on the reservation even near the
'Laughing Water' ground----"

Bostwick interrupted impatiently: "What's the matter with _the
'Laughing Water' being on the reservation_?"

McCoppet was sharp but he failed to grasp his associate's meaning.

"But it ain't," he said, "and no one claims it is."

Bostwick lowered his voice and looked at the gambler peculiarly.

"No one claims it _yet_!"

McCoppet threw away his cigar and took out a new one.

"Well? Come on. I bite. What's the answer?"

Bostwick leaned back in his chair.

"Suppose an accredited surveyor were to run out the reservation
line--the line next the 'Laughing Water' claim--and make an error of an
inch at the farthest end. Suppose that inch, projected several miles,
became about a thousand feet--wouldn't the 'Laughing Water' claim be
discovered to be a part of the Indian reservation?"

McCoppet eyed him narrowly, in silence, for a moment. He had suddenly
conceived a new estimate of the man who had come from New York.

Bostwick again leaned forward, continuing:

"No one will be aware of the facts but ourselves--therefore no one will
think of attempting to relocate the 'Laughing Water' ground, lawfully,
at six o'clock on the morning of the rush. But we will be on hand,
with the law at our backs, and quietly take possession of the property,
on which--as it is reservation ground--the present occupants are
trespassing."

McCoppet heard nothing of what his friend was saying. All the
possibilities outlined had flashed through his mind at Bostwick's first
intimation of the plan. He was busy now with affairs far ahead in the
scheme.

"Culver, the Government agent and surveyor is a dark one," he mused
aloud, half to himself. "If only Lawrence, his deputy, was in his
shoes---- Your frame-up sounds pretty tight, Bostwick, but Culver may
block us with his damnable squareness."

"Every man has his price," said Bostwick, "--big and little. Culver,
you say, represents the Government? Where is he now?"

McCoppet replied with a question: "Bostwick, how much have you got?"

Bostwick flushed. "Money? Oh, I can raise my share, I hope."

"You hope?" repeated the gambler. "Ain't your syndicate back of any
game you open, with the money to see it started right?"

Bostwick was a trifle uneasy. The "syndicate" of which he had spoken
was entirely comprised of Beth and her money, which he hoped presently
to call his own. He had worked