Читать книгу Buffalo Bill's Bold Play; Or, The Tiger of the Hills онлайн

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The thing was signed by “Juniper Joe.”

What the fellow’s real name was few, if any, knew; some said it was Mason, some Morgan, some even slandered him by claiming that he walked about among men bearing the plebeian cognomen of John Jones, where he was better known.

Juniper Joe’s cabin—it was a big one—stood right at the edge of the camp of Blossom Range, on the east. The back of it burrowed into a hill; and in that hill was Juniper Joe’s mine. No one could get into the mine, it was claimed, unless he went through the house; and the house was always locked, when Juniper Joe was at work, or not receiving company.

The mine had gained great fame lately. Juniper Joe had struck “pockets” that were wonderfully rich, judging by Blossom Range standards. They were rather high standards, too; for other men, in other holes in the ground, were making good strikes, all round the town.

It was because he had been so phenomenally lucky that had induced Juniper Joe to seek a helpmate; he wanted a woman to share his joys and sorrows, and help him to spend his surplus cash. He might have got one even in Blossom Range, on account of the plutocratic reputation he had suddenly acquired; but he preferred to pass them by and seek in fields afar for the future partner of his bosom. So he said.