In spots, he was certainly the latter. The locality into which his
destinies had led him lay in the tumultuous centre of the Hills, about
thirty miles from Custer and ten from Hill City. Spanish Gulch was
three miles down the draw. The Holy Smoke mine, to which Bennington was
accredited, he found to consist of a hole in the ground, of unsounded
depth, two log structures, and a chicken coop. The log structures
resembled those he had read about. In one of them lived Arthur and his
wife. The wife did the cooking. Arthur did nothing at all but sit in
the shade and smoke a pipe, and this in spite of the fact that he did
not look like a loafer. He had no official connection with the place,
except that of husband to Mrs. Arthur. The other member of the
community was Davidson, alias Old Mizzou.

The latter was cordial and voluble. As he was blessed with a long white
beard of the patriarchal type, he inspired confidence. He used
exclusively the present tense and chewed tobacco. He also played
interminable cribbage. Likewise he talked. The latter was his strong
point. Bennington found that within two days of his arrival he knew all
about the company's business without having proved the necessity of
stirring foot on his own behalf. The claims were not worth much,
according to Old Mizzou. The company had been cheated. They would find
it out some day. None of the ore assayed very high. For his part he did
not see why they even did assessment work. Bennington was to look after
the latter? All in good time. You know you had until the end of the
year to do it. What else was there to do? Nothing much; The present
holders had come into the property on a foreclosed mortgage, and
weren't doing anything to develop it yet. Did Bennington know of their
plans? No? Well, it looked as though the two of them were to have a
pretty easy time of it, didn't it?