“Well, my name’s Cribbens,” answered the other.  The two shook hands solemnly.

“You’re about finished?” continued Cribbens, pushing back.  “Le’s go out in the bar an’ have a drink on it.”

“Sure, sure,” said the dentist.

The two sat up late that night in a corner of the barroom discussing the probability of finding gold in the Panamint hills.  It soon became evident that they held differing theories.  McTeague clung to the old prospector’s idea that there was no way of telling where gold was until you actually saw it.  Cribbens had evidently read a good many books upon the subject, and had already prospected in something of a scientific manner.

“Shucks!” he exclaimed.  “Gi’ me a long distinct contact between sedimentary and igneous rocks, an’ I’ll sink a shaft without ever seeing ‘color.’”

The dentist put his huge chin in the air.  “Gold is where you find it,” he returned, doggedly.

“Well, it’s my idea as how pardners ought to work along different lines,” said Cribbens.  He tucked the corners of his mustache into his mouth and sucked the tobacco juice from them.  For a moment he was thoughtful, then he blew out his mustache abruptly, and exclaimed: 

“Say, Carter, le’s make a go of this.  You got a little cash I suppose—­fifty dollars or so?”

“Huh?  Yes—­I—­I—­”

“Well, I got about fifty.  We’ll go pardners on the proposition, an’ we’ll dally ‘round the range yonder an’ see what we can see.  What do you say?”

“Sure, sure,” answered the dentist.

“Well, it’s a go then, hey?”

“That’s the word.”

“Well, le’s have a drink on it.”

They drank with profound gravity.

They fitted out the next day at the general merchandise store of Keeler—­picks, shovels, prospectors’ hammers, a couple of cradles, pans, bacon, flour, coffee, and the like, and they bought a burro on which to pack their kit.

“Say, by jingo, you ain’t got a horse,” suddenly exclaimed Cribbens as they came out of the store.  “You can’t get around this country without a pony of some kind.”

Cribbens already owned and rode a buckskin cayuse that had to be knocked in the head and stunned before it could be saddled.  “I got an extry saddle an’ a headstall at the hotel that you can use,” he said, “but you’ll have to get a horse.”

In the end the dentist bought a mule at the livery stable for forty dollars.  It turned out to be a good bargain, however, for the mule was a good traveller and seemed actually to fatten on sage-brush and potato parings.  When the actual transaction took place, McTeague had been obliged to get the money to pay for the mule out of the canvas sack.  Cribbens was with him at the time, and as the dentist unrolled his blankets and disclosed the sack, whistled in amazement.

“An’ me asking you if you had fifty dollars!” he exclaimed.  “You carry your mine right around with you, don’t you?”