They waited mildly curious when Saunders rose and made a sign that he required their attention, which they were perhaps the more willing to give because they were all his customers, and bills are apt to run up in a bush ranching community.
"Boys," said Saunders, "I want to point out that instead of owning gold-mines most of you would now be shoveling on the railroads or humping fir trees at the sawmills, if it hadn't been for me." Some of them laughed, and some of them admitted that there was a certain truth in this, for the bush rancher who buys uncleared land usually spends several years in very strenuous labor before it produces enough for him to live on, and in the meanwhile he must either go away and endeavor to earn a few dollars every now and then or else fall into the hands of the nearest storekeeper.
"Our friend is a philanthropist," said one of them, who spoke clean, colloquial English.

"We all admit his favors, but he doesn't mention that he puts them in the bill." "And he doesn't charge anything extra for insects in his flour," said another man.
There was a little laughter, but Saunders gazed at them reproachfully.
"If you think it's easy making money out of the kind of crowd you are, all you have to do is to start a store and see.

But that wasn't quite what I meant to say," he explained.

"Anyway, I put the whole of you right on to this lead." "You were quite a long while doing it," interjected one of the audience.
Saunders waved his hand.
"Am I a blame fool ?" he asked.

"I've no use for an inquisitive, grasping crowd worrying round my gold-mine until I've got things securely fixed.