"Hm!" mused Bennie. "I see. That stuff's been pinched from the mill."
"Good boy, Julius Benjamin! You're doing well. You'll go into words of two syllables next."
"But, to recapitulate, as my old school-teacher used to say, there's thousands of dollars in them sacks. The Rainbow ain't coughing up no such rich stuff as that. That rock is broken; ergo, it's been under the stamps. It's coarse and fine, from which I infer it hasn't been through the screens. And furthermore----"
"They've just hung up the stamps and raked out the rich stuff that's settled between the dies!"
"Naturally, gold being heavier than quartz. Julius Benjamin, you're fit for the second reader."
"It's Luna or Morrison been robbing the mill. Won't Frenchy pull the long face when he hears of your find?"
Zephyr made no farther reply than to blow _There'll Be a Hot Time_ from pursed lips as he rolled a cigarette.
"Not to-night, Bennie." Zephyr was puffing meditative whiffs in the air. "Great things move slowly. Richard Firmstone is great, Benjamin; leave it to him."
Bennie was already dressed, and Zephyr, throwing the stub of his cigarette through the open window, followed him to the kitchen. He ate his specially prepared breakfast with an excellent appetite.
"I think I'll raise my bet. I mentioned a sack of flour and a side of bacon. I'll take a can of coffee and a dab of sugar. St. Peter'll appreciate that. 'Tis well to keep on the right side of the old man. Some of us may have occasion to knock at his gate before the summer is over. You've heard of my new claim, Bennie?"
Bennie made no reply. Between packing up Zephyr's supplies, attending to breakfast for the men, and thinking of the sacks of stolen ore, he was somewhat preoccupied.
Zephyr stowed the supplies in his pack and raised it to his shoulder. Bennie looked up in surprise.
Zephyr was carefully adjusting the straps of his pack.
"It looks pretty much that way, Benjamin. When a man's got all he wants, it's time for him to lope. If he stays, he might get more and possibly--less."
"What will I do with these sacks?" Bennie asked hurriedly, as Zephyr passed through the door.
Zephyr made no reply, further than softly to whistle _Break the News to Mother_ as he swung into the trail. He clumped sturdily along, apparently unmindful of the rarefied air that would ordinarily make an unburdened man gasp for breath. His lips were still pursed, though they had ceased to give forth sound. He came to the nearly level terrace whereon, among scattered boulders, were clustered the squat shanties of the town of Pandora.