Saint Jimmy did not speak. He was evidently deeply moved by the strange story. Mrs. Burton was drying her eyes. The Pardners waited, with no little anxiety.
At last Bob asked timidly:
“Be you still thinkin’, sir, as how our gal ought to be told?”
Reluctantly, Saint Jimmy answered:
“I am afraid that Marta must know.”
He looked at his mother.
“I am sure she must know,” said Mrs. Burton with quiet decision. “And you, my son, are the one to tell her. It will come to her easier from you, her teacher, than from any one else.”
“Yes, ma’am,” cried Thad eagerly. “That’s the way me an’ Bob figgered it.”
“Will you do it, sir?” asked Bob.
“Yes,” said Saint Jimmy, “I will tell her.”
The Pardners sighed with relief.
“That sure lets us out of a mighty bad hole,” said Thad. “It’ll be a heap easier on our gal, too.”
“It sure will,” echoed Bob. “Ain’t nobody can tell what kind of a God-awful mess us old fools would{40} a-made of it. We’re almighty grateful to you, sir, for helpin’ us out.”
{40}
“We are that,” came from Thad with pathetic earnestness.
Bob said hurriedly:
“An’ now that it’s all settled, Pardner, I move that me an’ you pulls out of here before our gal happens along. I wouldn’t be ketched by her right now for all the money we’re goin’ to have when we strike that big vein we’re tunnelin’ for.”
“Which ain’t so much as it might be at that,” retorted Thad.
“You can’t never tell,” returned Bob with his usual cheery optimism, “gold is where you find it.”
When Bob and Thad were gone, Saint Jimmy and his mother, discussing the matter, were
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