There's better men than you been fooled in these hills.

I spint me a winter meself, cuttin' timbers fer me mine--an' no more than a mile from this spot it was--an' in the spring I sinks me shaf' an' not a dom ounce of gold do I git fer me pains!" "Well, by George! I'll speak to Fred about it.

I--I suppose you can be trusted, Murphy ?" Murphy spat far from him and hitched up his sagging overalls.

"Kin any man be trusted ?" he inquired sardonically.

"He kin, says I, if it's to his intrust.