There were enough of Dan"s prospecting tools and equipment in the camp for both men to set about excavating the silver lode on the morning after they killed him. The killer sat on a boulder, reading through the papers, stumbling over some of the words, his mouth forming them silently. “Says nothing here about limitations of rights,” he said at last, folding the papers and stuffing them inside his shirt.
“What in hell does that mean?” said the other, studying a gnarled and chipped spade.
“I"m guessing that means there is no legal impediment to our prospecting and developing the mine.”
“Impediment? Jesus, Quincy, you sound like a damned lawyer.”
Stretching out his legs, Quincy beamed, basking in the words of his friend, liking the idea of being thought of as a lawyer. “Hell, Charlie, I a
