His speech was cut short by the mounting quicksand. A slimy hand waved for a moment above the surface, clutching claw-like at the empty air. Then it, too, disappeared.
Big Bill surveyed the bubble-strewn surface of the quagmire, apparently unmoved. The only remaining trace of his revolting crime was Ormsby's half-submerged Stetson, which had fallen a few feet from where its owner went down. He sank it from sight with a carefully aimed rock fragment. Then he turned his attention to the waiting animals.
The two pack-mules watched him unconcernedly, their long ears drooping limply, as he picked up the ends of the lead-ropes and knotted them together. He vaulted into the saddle and rode to the water hole, only a few rods distant. When the beasts had drunk their fill, he set out with all haste for Red Dog.
The blood-red sun was poised just above the western horizon when Big Bill rode into the village. After seeing that his animals were properly bedded and fed he removed the heavy sacks of "dust" from his saddle-bags and hied to Bonnell's General Store.
"Hello, Bill," greeted Dave Bonnell, peering over his silver-rimmed spectacles as the burly prospector strode through the door, "Where's yer pardner?"
Big Bill laughed a bit nervously.
"Skipped out a coupla weeks ago for parts unknown," he replied. "Took most of the grub with him, too, the damned skunk! But the joke's on him. Day after he left I struck pay dirt and staked out a nice little claim for myself. I want you to weigh in this dust for me and fix up my papers."
The ancient counter trembled with the impact of the two heavy bags which he suddenly placed before the astonished storekeeper.
Dave Bonnell weighed the gold dust with wide-eyed wonder.
"You shore hit pay dirt this time, didn't you, Bill," he remarked. "Want any cash on this or just a receipt?"
"Gimme about a hundred cash and a receipt for the balance," replied the prospector. "I 'low to ride over and file claim in the mornin'. Think you can fix my papers up this evenin' so I can git an early start tomorrow?"
"Have 'em ready for you by the time you get through with your supper," said Bonnell. Aside from being a storekeeper he was a notary public and justice of the peace.
Bill ambled over to the Deer Foot Saloon for a couple of shots of whiskey as an appetizer. Then he went into the adjoining cafe, where he tucked a huge beefsteak, a half dozen eggs, French fried potatoes, coffee, and a piece of pie under his belt. After lighting a long black cigar he returned to the store. Bonnell had the papers ready for his signature. He removed his hat, raised his right hand in solemn oath and affixed his name.
"Well, so long, Dave," he muttered, when Bonnell handed him the documents, "See you tomorrow afternoon."
"You'll be wantin' some grub and things, I suppose."
"Yeah. Plenty of things. So long."
"So long, Bill."
LATE the the following afternoon Big Bill rode back from the county seat, the sole owner of the richest claim that had been filed in that office for many years.
He had often wondered how it would feel to be wealthy. Time and again he had planned the things he would do should he ever strike it rich. Now that the big moment had arrived, however, his thoughts were chaos. For one thing, he had promised himself
