I asked Dan if it was a good, honest mine, and no swindle.  He said the men had shown him nine tons of the rock, which they had got out to take to New York, and he could cheerfully say that he had seen but little rock in Nevada that was richer; and moreover, he said that they had secured a tract of valuable timber and a mill-site, near the mine.  My first idea was to kill Dan.  But I changed my mind, notwithstanding I was so angry, for I thought maybe the chance was not yet lost.  Dan said it was by no means lost; that the men were absent at the mine again, and would not be in Virginia to leave for the East for some ten days; that they had requested him to do the talking to Marshall, and he had promised that he would either secure Marshall or somebody else for them by the time they got back; he would now say nothing to anybody till they returned, and then fulfil his promise by furnishing me to them.

It was splendid.  I went to bed all on fire with excitement; for nobody had yet gone East to sell a Nevada silver mine, and the field was white for the sickle.  I felt that such a mine as the one described by Dan would bring a princely sum in New York, and sell without delay or difficulty.  I could not sleep, my fancy so rioted through its castles in the air.  It was the “blind lead” come again.

Next day I got away, on the coach, with the usual eclat attending departures of old citizens,—­for if you have only half a dozen friends out there they will make noise for a hundred rather than let you seem to go away neglected and unregretted—­and Dan promised to keep strict watch for the men that had the mine to sell.

The trip was signalized but by one little incident, and that occurred just as we were about to start.  A very seedy looking vagabond passenger got out of the stage a moment to wait till the usual ballast of silver bricks was thrown in.  He was standing on the pavement, when an awkward express employee, carrying a brick weighing a hundred pounds, stumbled and let it fall on the bummer’s foot.  He instantly dropped on the ground and began to howl in the most heart-breaking way.  A sympathizing crowd gathered around and were going to pull his boot off; but he screamed louder than ever and they desisted; then he fell to gasping, and between the gasps ejaculated “Brandy! for Heaven’s sake, brandy!” They poured half a pint down him, and it wonderfully restored and comforted him.  Then he begged the people to assist him to the stage, which was done.  The express people urged him to have a doctor at their expense, but he declined, and said that if he only had a little brandy to take along with him, to soothe his paroxyms of pain when they came on, he would be grateful and content.  He was quickly supplied with two bottles, and we drove off.  He was so smiling and happy after that, that I could not refrain from asking him how he could possibly be so comfortable with a crushed foot.

“Well,” said he, “I hadn’t had a drink for twelve hours, and hadn’t a cent to my name.  I was most perishing—­and so, when that duffer dropped that hundred-pounder on my foot, I see my chance.  Got a cork leg, you know!” and he pulled up his pantaloons and proved it.