He attended strictly to business, bringing to the bank at Moore's
Flat from time to time gold dust of high grade, worth from $19 to $20 an
ounce. And those who bought his gold marked how rough and torn were the
old man's fingers, the nails broken and blackened and forced away from
the flesh.
But Keeler and Cummins had seen through the rough exterior. They knew
something of his charities. They had tasted his good cheer; for he kept
a well-stocked larder. They had seen with amusement his family of pet
cats seated at table with him, and each receiving its rations in due
order, like so many children. Keeler told with glee about the old man's
horse and mule, idly eating their heads off on the hillside. They had
come to Palmer in payment of a debt, and although he had had a fair
offer for the mule he had refused to sell, on the ground that without
the mule the horse would be lonesome.
Robert Palmer knew what it was to be lonesome. True, he employed a hired
man or two occasionally, and when he cleaned up his sluices he employed
several--and, let it be said, he paid good wages. There were neighbors,
but with most of them he had little in common.
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