Three hours had scarcely passed since his encounter with Tom, therefore he expected to find him near the spot where he had stopped the stage.
Whatever the feeling of security that quieted the deserter’s spirits, he drew his pistols as his horse entered the shades of Cut-throat, and then, applying the heavy Mexican spurs which he had strapped to his heels, he went down the canyon like a fugitive from justice.
“Hyar I am, but no Tom,” he said, drawing rein on the spot where he had had his adventure with the Gulch Tiger.
“Hyar’s whar he told me about the bonanza thet beats the Emma King, an’ thar is whar I stood on the tongue an’ listened till I saw Old Jack drivin’ a golden carriage through the streets ov ’Frisco. Why didn’t you wait hyar fur me, Tom? You might hev knowed thet I’d come back jist as quick as I could unhitch, an’ say goodbye to the hosses. Tom, pard, whar ar’ ye?”
He had mentally resolved to go back to his horses when a sound that made him turn, saluted his ears.
“Ah! Tom, you did come!” he exclaimed, for the Gulch Tiger sat before him as natural as life.
“I didn’t think you would come back,” was the answer.
“Foolin’ me--Old Jack, yer pard?” the old fellow said dazedly. “I’ve left the route, desarted my hosses, turned my back on Custer--for a share in the big bonanza that beats the Emma King--”
Jack gritted his teeth; that cruel cachinnation sent the last bird of hope screaming from his avaricious heart. It dissipated his dream of gold.
“Tom, you don’t mean all thet thet laugh said,” Jack cried. “Is thar really no bonanza--”
“Thar’s one for every man, but he must get it for himself,” was the interruption as heartless as the laugh.
The rough hand of Jack Drivewell had glided to the revolver that rested at his right thigh, but his eye was fixed on the figure before him.
“Hold on, Jack! Draw that weapon and you’ll hunt for bonanza in a kentry where they don’t hev any,” said the Canyon Thug, sternly, as the driver’s hand touched the butt of his pistol. “Go back to the road and you’ll strike one some day.”
“I can’t do thet, Tom. I’ve left the road. From this night I’m Old Jack, the Bonanza Hunter.”
The reply of the Gulch Tiger was the lifting of his right hand.
“Thet’s the signal!” went through Jack’s brain.