I didn't know his game, didn't suspect it--I blessed God for
giving me such a friend--until this, or, rather, yesterday afternoon,
when I received a telegram from my manager at the mine saying that
he had struck what looked like a very rich vein--the mother lode.
And"--Wilbur's fist curled until the knuckles were like ivory in their
whiteness--"he added in the telegram that Thurl had wired the news of
the strike to a man in New York by the name of Markel. Do you see? I
hadn't had the telegram five minutes, when a messenger brought me a
letter from Markel curtly informing me that I would have to meet my note
to-morrow morning. I can't meet it. He knew I couldn't. With wealth in
sight--I'm wiped out. A DEMAND note, a call loan, do you understand--and
with a few months in which to develop the new vein I could pay it
readily. As it is--I default the note--Markel attaches all I have left,
which is the mine. The mine is sold to satisfy my indebtedness. Markel
buys it in legally, upheld by the law--and acquires, ROBS me of it,
and--"
"And so," said Jimmie Dale musingly, "you were going to shoot yourself?"
Wilbur straightened up, and there was something akin to pathetic
grandeur in the set of the old shoulders as they squared back.
"Yes!" he said, in a low voice. "And shall I tell you why? Even if,
which is not likely, there was something reverting to me over the
purchase price, it would be a paltry thing compared with the mine.
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