"Do you know the horse we're talking about?" asked Dalton.

"Sure I do!--the white mare. She's a good enough horse, a beauty to
look at, but there aren't any millionaires around Vernock going to
give you five hundred dollars for her. A hundred and fifty is plenty
for a good riding horse these days."

"Say!--whose horse is it, anyway?"

"Yours,--I presume!" said Phil.

"Who's buying the horse?"

"Not me!"

"All right,--keep out!"

Phil smiled.

Dalton twisted up his face and turned to Hannington.

"Well, boss,--is it a go?"

Hannington demurred, then he showed a little decision, which Phil was
beginning to think he was entirely devoid of.

"No!--I'm dimmed if I'll pay that much for her. I want the horse
because she's white all over and there isn't another like her in
colour about the bally town. I like things different, by gad! But I
simply won't be put upon. No, dim it, dim it all,--I just won't!"

Dalton walked away without a word, then he whirled on his heel and
came slowly back.

"Want a mine--a gold mine?"

Percival DeRue Hannington, ever ready to nibble, showed interest.

"Say, Rattlesnake, forget it! Darn it all, do you think you are
talking to a crazy man?"

"See here, Ralston!--why don't you live up to your pet name and keep
your trap shut? Butt out!" exclaimed Dalton, curling his upper lip in
evident disgust.

"It's an honest-to-goodness gold mine, Mr. Hannington, and I hold all
the rights to it."

Phil addressed his friend.

"Don't be foolish now. Everybody in Vernock knows about Dalton's mine.
He can't give it away."

"Say, Ralston! if I was big as you and as ugly, I'd knock your face
in. Mind your own dirty business and keep out. Mr. Hannington is a
man-sized man, with a man-sized bean-pot and doesn't need a wet nurse
with him. He knows whether he wants a mine or not," said Dalton
sourly.

Phil's eyes flashed anger.

"Now, Phil, please!" put in Hannington. "Really you mustn't
quarrel. And you never know, you know;--there really have been old,
good-for-nothing mines and things that have turned out wonderful."

Phil shrugged his shoulders.

"Go to it!" he said. "It's your funeral."

"Oh, come now! Don't be playing the bally Dead March over me because
of a silly mine.

"Mr. Dalton, what name does this gold mine go by?"

"The Lost Durkin Gold Mine!"

Hannington's face lit up as he caught an inward glimpse of himself as
the owner.

"Lost Durkin! Deuced romantic name, you