is a man here owns a
cole mine he is what they call Xsentrik He is a Hermitt and lives in
the Hills His mine is wurth 500000$ but He dont no it He will take
80000$ for it and we can sell it rite away for perhaps 500000$ i
think we should take this up it is a grate chants if you will sell
your plase rite away and bring all the mony you can then i will sell
mine for the balluns be sure and bring all the mony you can if you
dont like the cole mine there is lots of other chantez they will make
you rich and bring the mony in bills not chex becaws He wont take
chex becaws He is Xsentrik their is a man here sais His frend in new
york would pay 500000$ for the cole mine if he was here and He is
sending Him word so Hurry and let us get holt ov it furst then we'll
sell it to Him and make a killing dont fale

"your obedyunt servunt

"HIRAM RILES."

Gardiner read the letter carefully, suppressing his amusement over
Riles' wrestlings with the language, and finally gave his approval.

"Now, you must make a copy of it," he said. "It's only business to
have a copy. That was a fine touch of yours about going back to sell
your own farm. I believe you have some imagination after all, if it
only had a chance to sprout."

Riles protested about the labour of making a copy, but Gardiner
insisted, and at last the work was completed. The sound of galloping
hoofs was heard outside, and a cowboy from a neighbouring ranch
called at the door to ask if there was anything wanted from town.
"Here's your chance to mail your letter," Gardiner called to Riles
with unnecessary loudness. "Mr. Riles dropped in here to write a
letter," he explained to the rider.

Having with much difficulty folded his epistle until it could be
crumpled into an envelope. Riles sealed, stamped, and addressed it,
and a moment later the dust was rising down the trail as the cowboy
bore the fatal missive to town. The die was cast; the match had been
set to the tinder, and the fire must now burn through to a finish,
let it scorch whom it would.

Gardiner took up the copy, folded it carefully, and put it in his
pocket-book. "Now, Mr. Riles," he said, "we're in for this thing, and
there's no backing out. At least you're in for it. You have sent a
letter, in your handwriting, such as it is, to Harris, and I have a
copy of it, in your handwriting, in my pocket. If this thing ever
gets out these letters will make good evidence."

CHAPTER XIV

THE GAMBLERS

H