"
"Where? There's no decent place in camp except at Howland's. He keeps
open house for our friends."
"I couldn't think of troubling him," countered Gordon.
"No trouble at all. We'll send for your things. Where are they?"
The land agent let him have it right between the eyes. "At Gideon
Holt's. I'm staying with him on his claim."
Wally had struck a match to light a cigarette, but this simple statement
petrified him. His jaw dropped and his eyes bulged. Not till the flame
burned his fingers did he come to life.
"Did you say you were staying--with Gid Holt?" he floundered weakly.
Gordon noticed that his florid face had lost its color. The jaunty
cock-sureness of the man had flickered out like the flame of the charred
match.
"Yes. He offered to board me," answered the young man blandly.
"But--I didn't know he was here--seems to me I had
heard--somewhere--that he was away."
"He was away. But he has come back." Gordon gave the information without
even a flash of mirth in his steady eyes.
Selfridge could not quite let the subject alone. "Seems to me I heard he
went prospecting."
"He did. Up Wild-Goose Creek, with Big Bill Macy and two other men. But
I asked him to come back with me--and he did.
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