N the day after the fight at Bull Mine Creek: Jim and I were discussing the encounter as we strolled back to our shanty after a short walk.
“Mr. Pete Cornish has got what you might describe as a fairly useful punch behind him,” said Jim reflectively at length.
“Once or twice last night, Jim, I thought he'd got you,” I commented.
Jim nodded briefly.
“So did I. Especially in that first minute. I don't mind telling you, Dick, that if that first smack he got on my jaw had been half an inch lower, it would have been a knock-out. It was his poor condition that did the trick.”
We paused at the door of our shanty, as one-eyed Mike came down the steps to meet us. Judging from the torchlight appearance of that one eye, our friend and partner had celebrated Christmas Eve in his own fashion, but a broad smile adorned his face and he was obviously bent on offering congratulations.
“A merry Christmas, boys!” he cried. And then he went into a fit of ecstatic chuckling. “To think of it: Peter Cornish knocked out with bare fists inside four minutes! Why, man—I wouldn't have believed it possible. I just wouldn't have believed it possible! I guess I'd give every penny I possess in the world to see you do it again.”
“You don't seem particularly fond of him, Mike,” said Jim, as he went indoors.
“Fond of him,” snarled the other. “Fond of that—swine! Eight years ago he swindled me out of the best claim I ever had, and when I taxed him with it, he and two of his pals waylaid me. That's where I lost this eye,” he added grimly.
“A cheerful sort of customer,” said Jim, thoughtfully.
“Well, you got a little bit of your own back last night, anyway. And now that you're here, Mike, we might go into business. Dick and I are quitting: we're going back to England.”
“Quitting!” There was genuine regret in One-eyed Mike's voice. “Boys, that's too bad. I guess you've got a real good claim up there.”
“It's yours, Mike,” said Jim. “We're handing it over to you, and the very best of luck, old man.”
Speechless surprise showed in the one eye, and Mike's
voice was a little husky as he answered.
“I guess I don't know what to say, sir,” he remarked at length. “Sure Cornish didn't tap you on the head or anything last night?”
Jim laughed. “No, we're quite sane, Mike. But we're going back to England, to look for somebody.”
“I hope you find her,” said Mike, and then he strolled to the window and stood staring out at the dusty street. “I hope you find her,” he repeated. “I reckon a woman—the right woman—is worth most other things put together. Though some of us don't have much luck that way.” He paused and drummed on the window. “Bud Sandford's up early this morning. Moreover, pards, he's coming here, unless I'm greatly mistook in my judgment of the course he's layin'.”
E heard steps outside, and the next moment the door opened and the man in question entered. He held no official position in so far as the Government was concerned, though his power was far greater than if he had. By common consent he had been elected boss, and sheriff, and general settler of disputes, and what he said at Bull Mine Creek went. He was a man of about fifty, with shrewd gray eyes and a reputation for impartial fairness in his decisions, which was just what was wanted in such a community.
“Morning, Bud,” said Jim. “Take a seat.”
Bud Sandford somewhat deliberately took a chair, and lit a cigar.
“Morning, boy,” he remarked cheerfully. “How's the face?”
IM grinned. “Want's a week's rest, and then it'll grow again.”
Bud gazed out of the window.
“I saw your scrap last night,” he remarked, “and I lost a tenner on the result. I may say that I'd willingly have lost two. I suppose you know it was a quarter of an hour before Cornish sat up and took notice of the things that had been going on around him.”
“As long as that?” said Jim. “I must have hit him harder than I thought.”
“It's not to talk about that that I came around,” went on Bud, “though as we're on the subject I'd like to say that it was the finest fight I've seen in thirty-five years. But it was to find out what you propose doing in the near future.”
Jim looked a trifle surprised.
“Well, Bud,” he said at length, “I guess there's no secret about it. My pal and I are quitting, and our claim passes to Mike.”
Bud grunted thoughtfully.
“When are you quitting?”
“We might push off to-day, or we might wait till to-morrow,” answered Jim. “We haven't really thought about it yet.”
“I guess I'd feel happier if you could make it to-day.”
“You seem almighty keen to be rid of us, Bud,” said Jim. “What's the idea?”