“Bassett tells me and Ricks not to leave the cabin till he comes back, even if it’s daylight, and then he starts off toward town, whistling gay.

“This Alfred E. Ricks pulls off his shoes and his coat, lays a silk handkerchief over his hat, and lays down on the floor.

“‘I think I will endeavor to secure a little slumber,’ he squeaks.  ‘The day has been fatiguing.  Good-night, my dear Mr. Peters.’

“‘My regards to Morpheus,’ says I.  ‘I think I’ll sit up a while.’

“About two o’clock, as near as I could guess by my watch in Peavine, home comes our laboring man and kicks up Ricks, and calls us to the streak of bright moonlight shining in the cabin door.  Then he spreads out five packages of one thousand dollars each on the floor, and begins to cackle over the nest-egg like a hen.

“‘I’ll tell you a few things about that town,’ says he.  ’It’s named Rocky Springs, and they’re building a Masonic temple, and it looks like the Democratic candidate for mayor is going to get soaked by a Pop, and Judge Tucker’s wife, who has been down with pleurisy, is getting some better.  I had a talk on these liliputian thesises before I could get a siphon in the fountain of knowledge that I was after.  And there’s a bank there called the Lumberman’s Fidelity and Plowman’s Savings Institution.  It closed for business yesterday with $23,000 cash on hand.  It will open this morning with $18,000—­all silver—­ that’s the reason I didn’t bring more.  There you are, trade and capital.  Now, will you be bad?’

“‘My young friend,’ says Alfred E. Ricks, holding up his hands, ’have you robbed this bank?  Dear me, dear me!’

“‘You couldn’t call it that,’ says Bassett.  ’Robbing” sounds harsh.  All I had to do was to find out what street it was on.  That town is so quiet that I could stand on the corner and hear the tumblers clicking in that safe lock—­“right to 45; left twice to 80; right once to 60; left to 15”—­as plain as the Yale captain giving orders in the football dialect.  Now, boys,’ says Bassett, ’this is an early rising town.  They tell me the citizens are all up and stirring before daylight.  I asked what for, and they said because breakfast was ready at that time.  And what of merry Robin Hood?  It must be Yoicks! and away with the tinkers’ chorus.  I’ll stake you.  How much do you want?  Speak up.  Capital.’

“‘My dear young friend,’ says this ground squirrel of a Ricks, standing on his hind legs and juggling nuts in his paws, ’I have friends in Denver who would assist me.  If I had a hundred dollars I—­’

“Basset unpins a package of the currency and throws five twenties to Ricks.

“‘Trade, how much?’ he says to me.

“‘Put your money up, Labor,’ says I.  ’I never yet drew upon honest toil for its hard-earned pittance.  The dollars I get are surplus ones that are burning the pockets of damfools and greenhorns.  When I stand on a street corner and sell a solid gold diamond ring to a yap for $3.00, I make just $2.60.  And I know he’s going to give it to a girl in return for all the benefits accruing from a $125.00 ring.  His profits are $122.00.  Which of us is the biggest fakir?’