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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"The Strange Case of Cavendish"

I hear, I know."
"Then they must be running a lateral, hoping to cut across our vein
somewhere within their lines."
"And will that give them the right, _senor_?"
Westcott sat, his head resting on one hand, staring thoughtfully into
the dying fire; the yellow flame of the oil lamp between them on the
table flickered in the draft from the open window. Here was a
threatening combination of forces.
"I am not sure, Jose," he answered slowly. "The mining law is full of
quirks, although, of course, the first discoverer of a lead is entitled
to follow it--it's his. The trouble here is, that instead of giving
notice of discovery, I have kept it a secret, and even blocked up the
tunnel. If the La Rosita gang push their drift in, and strike that
same vein, they will claim original discovery, and I reckon they'd make
it stick. I didn't suppose Lacy had the slightest idea we had struck
colour. Nobody knew it, but you and I, Jose."
"Never I say a word, _senor_."
"I am sure of that, for I know exactly where the news came from. Lacy
spilled the beans in a bit of misunderstanding we had last night down
in Haskell.


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