I've got a hole where I kin watch it every four hours.

When the time comes, I'm thar! Don't you see?
That's me! that's David Fairley,--that's the old man,--you bet!" "That's so," said Lance, curtly.

"And now, Mr.Fairley, if you'll hand me over a coat or jacket till I can get past these fogs on the Monterey road, I won't keep you from your diamond pit." He threw down a handful of silver on the table.
"Ther's a deerskin jacket yer," said the old man, "that one o' them vaqueros left for the price of a bottle of whiskey." "I reckon it wouldn't suit the stranger," said Flip, dubiously producing a much-worn, slashed, and braided vaquero's jacket.

But it did suit Lance, who found it warm, and also had suddenly found a certain satisfaction in opposing Flip.

When he had put it on, and nodded coldly to the old man, and carelessly to Flip, he walked to the door.
"If you're going to take the Monterey road, I can show you a short cut to it," said Flip, with a certain kind of shy civility.
The paternal Fairley groaned.