BROADCAST
Joe Teagler’s dream of years was realized. He had struck pay dirt in hisclaim high on the scarred side of Old Tiptop. A rich vein of gold quartzhad been uncovered, shouldering far back into the mountain, how farcould only be guessed.
Another man would have been in ecstasy in contemplation of the fortuneto be his. Teagler felt merely serene. He cast a glance over his shackof rough boards and logs, erected on the mountain side, to be handy tohis claim.
“I’m goin’ to miss that old shanty,” he ruminated. “That bit of porchthere is gettin’ mighty rickety, I see. Right after lunch I’ve got tofix that middle prop. If I don’t that company feller is likely to take aspill down the mountain. Scarcely seems a proper way to close a deal,even if he does try to ‘gyp’ me.”
Teagler chuckled softly as he started into the shack to prepare lunch.But before he reached the door, he came to a sudden stop.
“Hello, old-timer.”
The words were low, but something in the voice penetrated Teagler’sconsciousness like an electric shock. He had heard no sound of any manor thing approaching. Yet the voice came from just back of his leftshoulder.
Teagler turned.
“Well?” he abruptly inquired.
The thought struck him that this might be the mining company man, cometo deal for his property. He discarded this idea at once. Not only wasthe hour too early, but the stranger bore no appearance of a miningengineer.
“Nice place here.”
In the tone, Teagler was almost certain he detected a subtle mockery. Sohe did not answer, waited for the other to say more.
The stranger had a flabby look. His beard was several days old, blackand heavy. A pair of very dark eyes shifted from Teagler’s face, roamedthe mountainside and the shanty’s exterior. The fellow was attired in adark brown suit, shapeless now and caked with dirt about the shoe-tops,but the prospector was aware that the garment was of expensive cut. Theman’s felt hat retained dapper lines.
As Teagler eyed him, the newcomer whipped out a dirty handkerchief anddabbed with it at his perspiring face.
“That was some climb, old-timer,” he asserted.
“Yeah?”
Teagler looked at the stranger’s shoes. “Town” shoes. Rubber-soled. Thatwas why they had given no sound as the man toiled up the trail. Thefellow had a cat-like appearance, too.
“I’d give a lot for a bite to eat and something to drink. Anything.Water, even.”
The stranger gave a short, sharp laugh. The laugh made plain a deep,white scar starting near the right temple and disappearing into thestubble of his beard.
“Come in,” invited Teagler, and motioned to the steps, composed of twoends of logs.
Once inside, the stranger’s shifty eyes rested on the picture of a slim,young girl in a velveteen gown and braids.
“My daughter,” said Teagler, who had been following the fellow’s roamingglance.
“Oh,” remarked the stranger. “Good-looking kid. Where’s she now?”
“School,” replied the prospector, “back East.”
“Fine.”
The guest’s gaze swerved to Teagler’s preparation for lunch. He lickeddry lips.
“Set in,” invited Teagler.
Ravenously, the man partook of the food. After several mouthfuls of themeat he looked up inquiringly.
“Venison?” he asked.
Teagler nodded.
“Got him just back of the rimrock down Cincher Creek.”
He looke