The Furnace of Gold Part 16

"Nothing, thank you," answered Bostwick, who started for his man, but halted for McCoppet to finish his business with his friend.

The man on whom Bostwick was gazing was a tall, slender, slightly stooped individual of perhaps forty-five, with a wonderful opal in his tie, from which he had derived his sobriquet. He was clean-shaved, big featured, and gifted with a pair of heavy-lidded eyes as l.u.s.treless as old b.u.t.tons. He had never been seen without a cigar in his mouth, but the weed was never lighted.

Bostwick noted the carefulness of the man's attire, but gained no clue as to his calling. To avoid stupid staring he turned to watch a game of faro. Its fascinations were rapidly engrossing his attentions and luring him onward toward a reckless desire to tempt the G.o.ddess of chance, when he presently beheld McCoppet turn away from his man and saunter down the room.

A moment later Bostwick touched him on the shoulder.

"Beg pardon," he said, "Mr. McCoppet?"

McCoppet nodded. "My name."

"I'd like to introduce myself--J. Searle Bostwick," said the visitor.

"I expected to arrive, as I wrote you----"

"Glad to meet you, Bostwick," interrupted the other, putting forth his hand. "Where are you putting up?"

"I haven't been able to find accommodations," answered Bostwick warmly.

"It's an outrage the way this town is conducted. I thought perhaps----"

"I'll fix you all right," cut in McCoppet. "Are you ready for a talk?

Nothing has waited for you to come."

"I came for an interview--in fact----"

"Private room back here," McCoppet announced, and he started to lead the way, pausing for a moment near a faro table to cast a cold glance at the dealer.

"Wonderfully interesting game," said Bostwick. "It seems as if a man might possibly beat it."

There might have been a shade of contempt in the glance McCoppet cast upon him. He merely said: "He can't."

Bostwick laughed. "You seem very positive."

McCoppet was moving on again.

"I own the game."

He owned everything here, and had his designs on two more places like it, down the street. He almost owned the souls of many men, but gold and power were the goals on which his eyes were riveted.

Bostwick glanced at him with newer interest as they pa.s.sed down the room, and so to a tight little office the walls of which were specially deadened against the transmission of sound.

"Have anything to drink?" inquired the owner, before he took a chair, "--whiskey, wine?"

"Thanks, no," said Bostwick, "not just yet." He took the chair to which McCoppet waved him. "I must say I'm surprised," he admitted, "to see the numbers of men, the signs of activity, and all the rest of it in a camp so young. And by the way, it seems young Kent is away."

"Yes," said the gambler, settling deeply into his chair and sleepily observing his visitor. "I sent him away last week."

Bostwick was eager.

"On something good for the--for our little group?"

"On a wild goose seance," answered McCoppet. "He's in the way around here."

"Oh," said Bostwick, who failed to understand. "I thought----"

"Yes. I culled your thought from your letters," interrupted his host drawlingly. "We might as well understand each other first as last.

Bostwick--are you out here to work this camp my way or the kid's?"

Bostwick was cautious. "How does he wish to work it?"

"Like raising potatoes."

"And your plan is----"

"Look here, do I stack up like a Sunday-school superintendent? I thought you and I understood each other. I don't run no game the other man can maybe beat. Didn't you come out here with that understanding?"

"Certainly, I----"

"Then never mind the kid. What have you got in your kahki?"

"Our syndicate to buy the Hen Hawk group----" started Bostwick, but the gambler cut in sharply.

"That's sold and cold. You have to move here; things happen. What did you do about the reservation permit?"

Bostwick looked about the room furtively, and edged his chair a bit closer.

"I secured permission from Government headquarters to explore all or any portions of the reservation, and take _a.s.sistants_ with me," he imparted in a lowered tone of voice. "I had it mailed to me here by registered post. It should be at the post-office now."

"Right," said McCoppet with more of an accent of approval in his utterance. "Get it out to-day. I've got your corps of a.s.sistants hobbled here in camp. They can get on the ground to-morrow morning."

Bostwick's eyes were gleaming.

"There's certainly gold on this reservation?"

"Now, how can anybody tell you that?" demanded McCoppet, who from his place here in Goldite had engineered the plan whereby his and Bostwick's expert prospectors could explore every inch of the Government's forbidden land in advance of all compet.i.tors. "We're taking a flyer, that's all. If there's anything there--we're on."

Bostwick reflected for a moment. "There's nothing at present that our syndicate could do?"

"There'll be plenty of chances to use ready money," McCoppet a.s.sured him, rising. "You're here on the ground. Keep your shirt on and leave the shuffling to me."

Bostwick, too, arose. "How long will young Kent be away?"

"As long as I can keep him busy out South."

"What is he doing out South?"

"Locating a second Goldite," said the gambler. "Keeps him on the move." He threw away his chewed cigar, placed a new one in his mouth, and started for the door. "Come on," he added, "I'll identify you over at the postoffice and show you where you sleep."