“You’ve decided sudden, ain’t you?” asked McCoppet.  “There’s a good big deck there to stack.”

“We’ve wasted time and money till to-day.”  Bostwick rose from his chair, put one foot upon it, and leaned towards the gambler as one assuming a position of equality, if not of something more.  “Look here, McCoppet, you asked me the day I arrived what sort of a game I’d come to play.  I ask you now if you are prepared to play something big—­and—­well, let us say, a trifle risky?”

“Don’t insult my calling,” answered the gambler.  “I call.  Lay your cards on the table.”

Bostwick sat down and leaned across the soiled green baize.

“You probably know as much as I do about the ‘Laughing Water’ claim—­its richness—­its owners—­and where it’s located.”

McCoppet nodded, narrowing his eyes.

“A good dog could smell their luck from here.”

“But do you know where it lies—­their claim?” insisted Bostwick significantly.  “That’s the point I’m making at present.”

“It’s just this side of the reservation, from what I hear,” replied the gambler, “but if there’s nothing on the reservation even near the ‘Laughing Water’ ground——­”

Bostwick interrupted impatiently:  “What’s the matter with the ‘Laughing Water’ being on the reservation?”

McCoppet was sharp but he failed to grasp his associate’s meaning.

“But it ain’t,” he said, “and no one claims it is.”

Bostwick lowered his voice and looked at the gambler peculiarly.

“No one claims it yet!”

McCoppet threw away his cigar and took out a new one.

“Well?  Come on.  I bite.  What’s the answer?”

Bostwick leaned back in his chair.

“Suppose an accredited surveyor were to run out the reservation line—­the line next the ‘Laughing Water’ claim—­and make an error of an inch at the farthest end.  Suppose that inch, projected several miles, became about a thousand feet—­wouldn’t the ‘Laughing Water’ claim be discovered to be a part of the Indian reservation?”

McCoppet eyed him narrowly, in silence, for a moment.  He had suddenly conceived a new estimate of the man who had come from New York.

Bostwick again leaned forward, continuing: 

“No one will be aware of the facts but ourselves—­therefore no one will think of attempting to relocate the ‘Laughing Water’ ground, lawfully, at six o’clock on the morning of the rush.  But we will be on hand, with the law at our backs, and quietly take possession of the property, on which—­as it is reservation ground—­the present occupants are trespassing.”

McCoppet heard nothing of what his friend was saying.  All the possibilities outlined had flashed through his mind at Bostwick’s first intimation of the plan.  He was busy now with affairs far ahead in the scheme.

“Culver, the Government agent and surveyor is a dark one,” he mused aloud, half to himself.  “If only Lawrence, his deputy, was in his shoes——­ Your frame-up sounds pretty tight, Bostwick, but Culver may block us with his damnable squareness.”