COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 BY EUGENE MANLOVE RHODES 
 
Copper Streak Trail 
 
 BY 
 EUGENE MANLOVE RHODES 
 
 AUTHOR OF " STEPSONS OF LIGHT," " GOOD MEN AND TRUE " 
 " WEST IS WEST," ETC. 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 iltocrsiDe prerftf Cambribge 
 
COPYRIGHT, IQI7, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 COPYRIGHT, IQ22, BY EUGENE MANLOVE RHODES 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED INCLUDING THE RIGHT TO REPRODUCE 
 THIS BOOK OR PARTS THEREOF IN ANY FORM 
 
 PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. 
 
TO 
 
 THE READER OF THIS BOOK 
 
 FROM ONE WHO SAW LIFE UNSTEADILY 
 
 AND IN PART 
 
 M20392 
 
Copper Streak Trail 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE stage line swung aside in a huge half- 
 circle, rounding the northern end of the 
 Comobabi Range and swinging far out to skirt 
 the foothills. Mr. Peter Johnson had never 
 been to Silverbell: his own country lay far to 
 the north, beyond the Gila. But he knew that 
 Silverbell was somewhere east of the Comobabi, 
 not north; and confidently struck out to find 
 a short cut through the hills. From Silverbell 
 a spur of railroad ran down to Redrock. Mr. 
 Johnson s thought was to entrain himself for 
 Tucson. 
 
 The Midnight horse reached along in a brisk, 
 swinging walk, an optimistic walk, good for 
 four miles an hour. He had held that gait since 
 three o clock in the morning, with an hour off 
 
4 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 for water and breakfast at Smith s Wells, the 
 first stage station out from Cobre; it was now 
 hot noon by a conscientious sun thirty-six 
 miles. But Midnight did not care. For hours 
 their way had been through a trackless plain 
 of uncropped salt grass, or grama, on the rising 
 slopes: now they were in a country of worn 
 and freshly traveled trails: wise Midnight 
 knew there would be water and nooning soon. 
 Already they had seen little bands of horses 
 peering down at them from the high knolls on 
 their right. 
 
 Midnight wondered if they were to find 
 sweet water or alkali. Sweet, likely, since it 
 was in the hills; Midnight was sure he hoped so. 
 The best of these wells in the plains were salt 
 and brackish. Privately, Midnight preferred 
 the Forest Reserve. It was a pleasant, soft 
 life in these pinewood pastures. Even if it was 
 pretty dull for a good cow-horse after the Free 
 Range, it was easier on old bones. And though 
 Midnight was not insensible to the compli- 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 5 
 
 ment Pete had paid him by picking him from 
 the bunch for these long excursions to the 
 Southland deserts, he missed the bunch. 
 
 They had been together a long time, the 
 bunch; Pete had brought them from the Block 
 Ranch, over in New Mexico. They were get 
 ting on in years, and so was Pete. Midnight 
 mused over his youthful days the dust, the 
 flashing horns, the shouting and the excite 
 ment of old round-ups. 
 
 It is a true telling that thoughts in no way 
 unlike these buzzed in the rider s head as a 
 usual thing. But to-day he had other things 
 to think of. 
 
 With Kid Mitchell, his partner, Pete had 
 lately stumbled upon a secret of fortune a 
 copper hill; a warty, snubby little gray hill in 
 an insignificant cluster of little gray hills. But 
 this one, and this one only, precariously 
 crusted over with a thin layer of earth and 
 windblown sand, was copper, upthrust by 
 central fires; rich ore, crumbling, soft; a hill to 
 
6 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 be loaded, every yard of it, into cars yet un 
 built, on a railroad yet undreamed-of, save by 
 these two lucky adventurers. 
 
 They had blundered upon their rich find by 
 pure chance. For in the southwest, close upon 
 the Mexican border, in the most lonesome cor 
 ner of the most lonesome county of thinly 
 settled Arizona, turning back from a long and 
 fruitless prospecting trip, they had paused for 
 one last, half-hearted venture. One idle stroke 
 of the pick in a windworn bare patch had 
 turned up this! 
 
 So Pete Johnson s thoughts were of millions; 
 not without a queer feeling that he would n t 
 have the least idea what to do with them, and 
 that he was parting with something in his past, 
 priceless, vaguely indefinable: a sharing and 
 acceptance of the common lot, a brotherhood 
 with the not fortunate. 
 
 Riding to the northwest, Pete s broad gray 
 sombrero was tilted aside to shelter from the 
 noonday sun a russet face, crinkled rather than 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 7 
 
 wrinkled, and dusty. His hair, thinning at the 
 temples, vigorous at the ears, was crisply 
 white. A short and lately trimmed mustache 
 held a smile in ambush ; above it towered such 
 a nose as Wellington loved. 
 
 It was broad at the base; deep creases ran 
 from the corners of it, flanking the white mus 
 tache, to a mouth strong, full-lipped and un 
 deniably large, ready alike for laughter or for 
 sternness. 
 
 The nose to follow the creases back again 
 
 was fleshy and beaked at the tip; it nar 
 rowed at the level bridge and broadened again 
 where it joined the forehead, setting the eyes 
 well apart. The eyes themselves were blue, 
 just a little faded for the man was sixty- two 
 
 and there were wind-puckers at the corners 
 of them. But they were keen eyes, steady, 
 sparkling and merry eyes, for all that; they 
 were deep-set and long, and they sloped a trifle, 
 high on the inside corners; pent in by pepper- 
 and-salt brows, bushy, tufted and thick, ro- 
 
8 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 guishly aslant from the outer corners up to 
 where they all but met above the Wellingtonian 
 nose. A merry face, a forceful face : Pete was a 
 little man, five feet seven, and rather slender 
 than otherwise; but no one, in view of that 
 face, ever thought of him as a small man or 
 an old one. 
 
 The faint path merged with another and 
 another, the angles of convergence giving the 
 direction of the unknown water hole; they 
 came at last to the main trail, a trunk line 
 swollen by feeders from every ridge and ar- 
 royo. It bore away to the northeast, swerving, 
 curving to pitch and climb in faultless follow 
 ing of the rule of roads the greatest prog 
 ress with the least exertion. Your cow is your 
 best surveyor. 
 
 They came on the ranch suddenly, rounding 
 a point into a small natural amphitheater. A 
 flat-roofed dugout, fronted with stone, was 
 built into the base of a boulder-piled hill; the 
 door was open. Midnight perked his black 
 head jauntily and slanted an ear. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 9 
 
 High overhead, a thicket of hackberry and 
 arrow-weed overhung the little valley. From 
 this green tangle a pipe line on stilts broke away 
 and straddled down a headlong hill. Frost was 
 unknown; the pipe was supported by forked 
 posts of height assorted to need, an expedi 
 ent easier than ditching that iron hillside. The 
 water discharged into a fenced and foursquare 
 earthen reservoir; below it was a small corral of 
 cedar stakes; through the open gate, as he rode 
 by, Pete saw a long watering-trough with a 
 float valve. Before the dugout stood a patri 
 archal juniper, in the shade of which two 
 saddled horses stood droop-hipped, comfort 
 ably asleep, Waking, as Pete drew near, they 
 adjusted their disarray in some confusion and 
 eyed the newcomers with bright-eyed inquiry. 
 Midnight, tripping by, hailed them with a 
 civil little whinny. 
 
 A tall, heavy man upreared himself from the 
 shade. His example was followed by another 
 man, short and heavy. Blankets were spread 
 on a tarpaulin beyond them. 
 
io COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "Light, stranger/ said the tall man heart 
 ily. "Unsaddle and eat a small snack. We 
 was just taking a little noonday nap for our 
 selves. 1 
 
 " Beans, jerky gravy, and bread," announced 
 the short man, waiter fashion. " I 11 hot up the 
 coffee." 
 
 With the word he fed little sticks and 
 splinters to a tiny fire, now almost burned out, 
 near the circumference of that shaded circle. 
 
 "Yes, to all that; thank you," said Pete, 
 slipping off. 
 
 He loosened the cinches; so doing he caught 
 from the corner of his eye telegraphed tidings, 
 as his two hosts rolled to each other a single 
 meaningful glance, swift, furtive, and white- 
 eyed. Observing which, every faculty of Pete 
 Johnson s mind tensed, fiercely alert, braced to 
 attention* 
 
 "Now what? Some more of the same. 
 Lights out! Protect yourself!" he thought, 
 taking off the saddle. Aloud he said: 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 1 1 
 
 "One of Zurich s ranches, is n t it? I saw 
 Z K burned on the gateposts." 
 
 He passed his hand along Midnight s sweaty 
 back for possible bruise or scald; he unfolded 
 the Navajo saddle blanket and spread it over 
 the saddle to dry. He took the sudaderos 
 the jute sweat cloths under the Navajo and 
 draped them over a huge near-by boulder in 
 the sun, carefully smoothing them out to pre 
 vent wrinkles; to all appearance without any 
 other care on earth. 
 
 "Yes; horse camp," said the tall man. 
 "Now you water the black horse and I ll dig 
 up a bait of corn for him. Wash up at the 
 trough." 
 
 "Puesto que si! 11 said Pete. 
 
 He slipped the bit out of Midnight s mouth, 
 pushing the headstall back on the sleek black 
 neck by way of lead rope, and they strode away 
 to the water pen, side by side. 
 
 When they came back a nose-bag, full of 
 corn, stood ready near the fire. Pete hung 
 
12 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 this on Midnight s head. Midnight munched 
 contentedly, with half-closed eyes, and Pete 
 turned to the fire. 
 
 "Was I kidding myself ?" he inquired. "Or 
 did somebody mention the name of grub?" 
 
 "Set up!" grinned the tall man, kicking a 
 small box up beside a slightly larger one, which 
 served as a table. "Nothing much to eat but 
 food. Canned truck all gone." 
 
 The smaller host poured coffee. Pete con 
 sidered the boxes. 
 
 "You didn t pack these over here?" he 
 asked, prodding the table with his boot- toe to 
 elucidate his meaning. "And yet I did n t see 
 no wheel marks as I come along." 
 
 "Fetch em from Silverbell. We got a sort 
 of wagon track through the hills. Closer than 
 Cobre. Some wagon road in the rough places! 
 Snakes thick on the east side; but they don t 
 never get over here. Break their backs comin 
 through the gap. Yes, sir!" 
 
 "Then I ll just June along in the cool of the 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 13 
 
 eveninY observed Pete, ladling out a second 
 helping of jerked venison. "I can follow your 
 wagon tracks into town. I ain t never been to 
 Silverbell. Was afraid I might miss it in the 
 dark. How far is it? About twenty mile, I 
 reckon?" 
 
 "Just about. Shucks! I was in hopes you d 
 stay overnight with us. Bill and me, we ain t 
 seen no one since Columbus crossed the Del 
 aware in fourteen-ninety-two. Can t ye, now? " 
 urged the tall man coaxingly. "We ll pitch 
 horseshoes play cards if you want to; only 
 Bill and me s pretty well burnt out at cards. 
 Fox and geese too ever play fox and geese? 
 We got a dandy fox-and-goose board but 
 Bill, he natcherly can t play. He s from Cali 
 fornia, Bill is." 
 
 "Aw, shut up on that!" growled Bill. 
 
 "Sorry," said Pete, "I m pushed. Got to 
 go on to-night. Want to take that train at 
 seven-thirty in the morning, and a small sleep 
 for myself before that. Maybe I 11 stop over 
 
14 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 as I come back, though. Fine feed you got 
 here. Makes a jim-darter of a horse camp." 
 
 "Yes, tis. We aim to keep the cattle shoved 
 off so we can save the grass for the saddle 
 ponies." 
 
 "Must have quite a bunch?" 
 * Bout two hundred. Well, sorry you can t 
 stay with us. We was fixin to round up what 
 cows had drifted in and give em a push back 
 to the main range this afternoon. But they ll 
 keep. We ll stick round camp; and you stay 
 as late as you can, stranger, and we ll stir up 
 something. I 11 tell you what, Bill we ll pull 
 off that shootin match you was blowin 
 about." The tall man favored Johnson with a 
 confidential wink. " Bill, he allows he can shoot 
 right peart. Bill s from California." 
 
 Bill, the short man, produced a gray-and- 
 yellow tobacco sack and extracted a greasy 
 ten-dollar greenback, which he placed on the 
 box table at Johnson s elbow. 
 
 "Cover that, durn you! You hold stakes- 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 15 
 
 stranger. I ll show him California. Humph! 
 Dam wall-eyed Tejano!" 
 
 "I m a Texan myself," twinkled Johnson. 
 
 "What if you are? You ain t wall-eyed, be 
 you? And you ain t been makin no cracks at 
 California not to me. But this here Jim 
 look at the white-eyed, tow-headed grinnin 
 scoundrel, will you? Say, are you goin to 
 cover that X or are you goin to crawfish?" 
 
 "Back down? You peevish little sawed-off 
 runt!" yelped Jim. "I been lettin you shoot 
 off your head so s you ll be good and sore 
 afterward. I always wanted a piece of paper 
 money any way for a keepsake. You wait ! " 
 
 He went into the cabin and returned with 
 a tarnished gold piece and a box of forty-five 
 cartridges. 
 
 "Here, stakeholder!" he said to Johnson. 
 Then, to Bill: "Now, then, old Californy 
 you been all swelled-up and stumping me for 
 quite some time. Show us what you got!" 
 
 It was an uncanny exhibition of skill that 
 
16 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 followed. These men knew how to handle a 
 sixshooter. They began with tin cans at ten 
 yards, thirty, fifty and hit them. They shot 
 at rolling cans, and hit them; at high-thrown 
 cans, and hit them; at cards nailed to hitching- 
 posts; then at the pips of cards. Neither man 
 could boast of any advantage. The few and 
 hairbreadth misses of the card pips, the few 
 blanks at the longer ranges, fairly offset each 
 other. The California man took a slightly 
 crouching attitude, his knees a little bent; held 
 his gun at his knee; raising an extended and 
 rigid arm to fire. The Texan stood erect, almost 
 on tiptoe, bareheaded ; he swung his gun ear-high 
 above his shoulder, looking at his mark alone, 
 and fired as the gun flashed down. The little 
 California man made the cleaner score at the 
 very long shots and in clipping the pips of the 
 playing cards; the Texan had a shade the 
 better at the flying targets, his bullets ranging 
 full-center where the other barely grazed the 
 cans. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 17 
 
 " I don t see but what I 11 have to keep this 
 money. You Ve shot away all the cartridges in 
 your belts and most of the box, and it has n t 
 got you anywheres," observed Pete Johnson 
 pensively. " Better let your guns cool off. You 
 boys can t beat each other shooting. You do 
 right well, too, both of you. If you d only 
 started at it when you was young, I reckon 
 you d both have been what you might call 
 plumb good shots now." 
 
 He shook his head sadly and suppressed a 
 sigh. 
 
 "Wait!" advised the Texan, and turned to 
 confront his partner. "You make out quite 
 tol lable with a gun, Billiam," he conceded. 
 "I got to hand it to you. I judged you was 
 just runnin a windy. But have you now 
 showed all your little box of tricks?" 
 
 "Well, I have n t missed anything not to 
 speak of no more than you did," evaded 
 Bill, plainly apprehensive. "What more do 
 you want?" 
 
1 8 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 Jim chuckled. 
 
 "Pausin lightly to observe that it ought to 
 be easy enough to best you, if we was on horse 
 back just because you peek at your sights 
 when you shoot I shall now show you some 
 thing." 
 
 A chuck box was propped against the juniper 
 trunk. From this the Texan produced a horse 
 shoe hammer and the lids from two ten-pound 
 lard pails. He strode over to where, ten yards 
 away, two young cedars grew side by side, and 
 nailed a lid to each tree, shoulder-high. 
 
 " There !" he challenged his opponent. "We 
 ain t either of us going to miss such a mark as 
 that it s like putting your finger on it. But 
 suppose the tree was shooting back? Time is 
 what counts then. Now, how does this strike 
 you? You take the lid on the left and I 11 take 
 the other. When the umpire says Go! we ll 
 begin foggin and the man that scores six 
 hits quickest gets the money. That s fair, 
 is n t it, Johnson?" 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 19 
 
 This was a slip Johnson had not given his 
 name a slip unnoticed by either of the Z K 
 men, but not by Johnson. 
 
 "Fair enough, I should say," he answered. 
 
 "Why, Jim, that ain t practical that 
 ain t!" protested Bill uneasily. "You was 
 talking about the tree a-shootin back but 
 one shot will stop most men, let alone six. 
 What s the good of shoo tin a man all to 
 pieces?" 
 
 "Suppose there was six men?" 
 
 "Then they get me, anyway. Would n t 
 they, Mr. Umpire?" he appealed to Peter 
 Johnson, who sat cross-legged and fanned him 
 self with his big sombrero. 
 
 "That don t make any difference," decided 
 the umpire promptly. "To shoot straight 
 and quickest that sbein a good shot. Line 
 up!" 
 
 Bill lined up, unwillingly enough; they 
 stuffed their cylinders with cartridges. 
 
 "Don t shoot till I say: One, two, three 
 
20 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 go !" admonished Pete. " All set? One two 
 three go !" 
 
 A blending, crackling roar, streaked red 
 and saffron, through black smoke: the Tex 
 an s gun flashed down and up and back, as 
 a man snaps his fingers against the frost; he 
 tossed his empty gun through the sunlight to 
 the bed under the juniper tree and spread out 
 his hands. Bill was still firing one shot 
 two! 
 
 " Judgment I" shouted the Texan and 
 pointed. Six bullet holes were scattered across 
 his target, line shots, one above the other; and 
 poor Bill, disconcerted, had missed his last shot! 
 
 "Jim, I guess the stuff is yours," said Bill 
 sheepishly. 
 
 The big Texan retrieved his gun from the 
 bed and Pete gave him the stakes. He folded 
 the bill lovingly and tucked it away; but he 
 flipped the coin from his thumb, spinning in 
 the sun, caught it as it fell, and glanced askant 
 at old Pete. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 21 
 
 " How long ago did you say it was when you 
 began shootin ?" He voiced the query with 
 exceeding politeness and inclined his head 
 deferentially. " Or did you say? " 
 
 Pete pondered, pushing his hand thought 
 fully through his white hair. 
 
 "Oh, I began tryin when I was about ten 
 years old, or maybe seven. It s been so long 
 ago I scarcely remember. But I did n t get to 
 be what you might call a fair shot till about 
 the time you was puttin on your first pair of 
 pants," he said sweetly. " There was a time, 
 though, before that when I was about the 
 age you are now when I really thought I 
 could shoot. I learned better. " 
 
 A choking sound came from Bill; Jim turned 
 his eyes that way. Bill coughed hastily. Jim 
 sent the gold piece spinning again. 
 
 " I m goin to keep Bill s tenspot always," 
 he announced emotionally. "I ll never, never 
 part with that! But this piece of money " 
 He threw it up again. "Why, stranger, you 
 
22 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 might just as well have that as not. Bill can 
 be stakeholder and give us the word. There s 
 just six cartridges left in the box for me." 
 
 Peter Johnson smiled brightly, disclosing a 
 row of small, white, perfect teeth. He got to 
 his feet stiffly and shook his aged legs; he took 
 out his gun, twirled the cylinder, and slipped 
 in an extra cartridge. 
 
 "I always carry the hammer on an empty 
 chamber safer that way," he explained. 
 
 He put the gun back in the holster, dug up a 
 wallet, and produced a gold piece for the stake 
 holder. 
 
 " You d better clean your gun, young man," 
 he said. "It must be pretty foul by now." 
 
 Jim followed this advice, taking ten minutes 
 for the operation. Meantime the Californian 
 replaced the targets with new ones old tin 
 dinner plates this time and voiced a philo 
 sophical regret over his recent defeat. The 
 Texas man, ready at last, took his place beside 
 Pete and raised his gun till the butt of it was 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 23 
 
 level with his ear, the barrel pointing up and 
 back. Johnson swung up his heavy gun in the 
 same fashion. 
 
 "Ready?" bawled Bill. "All right! One 
 two three go ! " 
 
 Johnson s gun leaped forward, blazing; his 
 left hand slapped back along the barrel, once, 
 twice; pivoting, his gun turned to meet Bill, 
 almost upon him, hands outstretched. Bill 
 recoiled ; Pete stepped aside a pace all this 
 at once. The Texan dropped his empty gun 
 and turned. 
 
 " You win," said Pete gently. 
 
 Not understanding yet, triumph faded from 
 the Texan s eyes at that gentle tone. He 
 looked at the target; he looked at Bill, who 
 stood open-mouthed and gasping; then he 
 looked at the muzzle of Mr. Johnson s gun. 
 His face flushed red, and then became almost 
 black. Mr. Johnson held the gun easily at his 
 hip, covering both his disarmed companions: 
 Mr. Johnson s eyebrows were flattened and his 
 mouth was twisted. 
 
24 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "It s loaded! 1 croaked Bill in a horrified 
 voice. "The skunk only shot once!" 
 
 Peter corrected him: 
 
 "Three times. I fanned the hammer. Look 
 at the target!" 
 
 Bill looked at the target; his jaw dropped 
 again; his eyes protruded. There were three 
 bullet holes, almost touching each other, 
 grouped round the nail in the center of Pete s 
 tin plate. 
 
 "Well, I m just damned!" he said. "I ll 
 swear he did n t shoot but once." 
 
 "That s fannin the hammer, Shorty," 
 drawled Pete. "Ever hear of that? Well, now 
 you ve seen it. When you practice it, hold 
 your elbow tight against your ribs to steady 
 your gun while you slap the hammer back. 
 For you, Mr. Jim I see you ve landed your 
 six shots; but some of em are mighty close to 
 the edge of your little old plate. Poor shootin ! 
 Poor shootin ! You ought to practice more. 
 As for speed, I judge I can do six shots while 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 25 
 
 you re making four. But I thought I d best 
 not to-day. Son, pick up your gun, and get 
 your money from Shorty/ 
 
 Mr. Jim picked up his gun and threw out 
 the empty shells. He glared savagely at Mr. 
 Johnson, now seated happily on his saddle. 
 
 " If I just had hold of you you benched- 
 legged hound! Curse your soul, what do you 
 mean by it?" snarled Jim. 
 
 "Oh, I was just a-thinkin ," responded Pete 
 lightly. "Thinkin how helpless I d be with 
 you two big huskies, here with my gun empty. 
 Don t snicker, Bill! That s rude of you. 
 Your pardner s feeling plenty bad enough 
 without that. He looks it. Mr. Bill, I 11 bet a 
 blue shirt you told the Jim-person to wait and 
 see if I would n t take a little siesta, and you d 
 get me whilst I was snoozing. You lose, then. 
 I never sleep. Tex, for the love of Mike, do 
 look at Bill s face; and Bill, you look at Mr. 
 Jim, from Texas! Guilty as charged! Your 
 scheme, was it, Texas? And Shorty Bill, he 
 
26 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 told you so? Why, you poor toddling inno 
 cents, you won t never prosper as crooks! 
 Your faces are too honest. 
 
 "And that frame-up of yours oh, that 
 was a loo- loo bird! Livin together and did n t 
 know which was the best shot likely ! And 
 every tin can in sight shot full of holes and 
 testifyin against you! Think I m blind, hey? 
 Even your horses give you away. Never bat 
 ted an eyelash durin that whole cannonade. 
 They ve been hearin forty- fives pretty reg lar, 
 them horses have." 
 
 "I notice your old black ain t much gun- 
 shy, either," ventured Bill. 
 
 "See here you!" said the big Texan. 
 "You talk pretty biggity. It s mighty easy to 
 run a whizzer when you Ve got the only loaded 
 gun in camp. If I had one damned cartridge 
 left it would be different." 
 
 "Never mind," said Johnson kindly. "I ll 
 give you one!" 
 
 Rising, he twirled the cylinder of his gun 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 27 
 
 and extracted his three cartridges. He threw 
 one far down the hillslope; he dropped one on 
 the ground beside him; he tossed the last one 
 in the sand at the Texan s feet. 
 
 Jim, from Texas, looked at the cartridge 
 without animation ; he looked into Pete John 
 son s frosty eyes; he kicked the cartridge back. 
 
 "I lay em down right here," he stated 
 firmly. " I like a damned fool; but you suit me 
 too well." 
 
 He stalked away toward his horse with 
 much dignity. He stopped halfway, dropped 
 upon a box, pounded his thigh and gave way 
 to huge and unaffected laughter; in which Bill 
 joined a moment later. 
 
 "Oh, you little bandy-legged old son-of-a- 
 gun!" Jim roared. "You crafty, wily, cunnin 
 old fox! I m for you! Of all the holy shows, 
 you ve made Bill and me the worst spe 
 cially me. There, there! you says, consolin 
 me up like I was a kid with a cracked jug. 
 There, there! Never mind I ll give you 
 
28 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 one! Deah, oh, deah! I ll never be able to 
 keep this still never in the world. I m 
 bound to tell it on myself!" He wiped tears 
 from his eyes and waved his hand helplessly. 
 "Take the ranch, stranger. She s yours. I 
 would n t touch you if you was solid gold and 
 charges prepaid." 
 
 "Oh, don t make a stranger of me!" begged 
 Pete. "You was callin me by the name of 
 Johnson half an hour ago. Forgot yourself, 
 likely." 
 
 "Did I?" said Jim indifferently. " No odds. 
 You ve got my number, anyway. And I 
 thought we was so devilish sly!" 
 
 "Well, boys, thank you for the dinner and 
 all; but I d best be jogging. Got to catch that 
 train." 
 
 Knitting his brows reflectively he turned 
 a questioning eye upon his hosts. But Shorty 
 Bill took the words from his mouth. 
 
 "I m like Jim: I ve got aplenty," he said. 
 "But there s a repeating rifle in the shack, if 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 29 
 
 you don t want to risk us. You can leave it at 
 Silverbell for us if you want to at the saloon. 
 And we can ride off the other way, so you ll 
 be sure." 
 
 " Maybe that ll be best considerin ," 
 said Pete. " I 11 leave the gun." 
 
 "See here, Johnson," said Jim stiffly. 
 "We ve thrown em down, fair and square. 
 I think you might trust us." 
 
 Pete scratched his head in some perplexity. 
 
 " I think maybe I might if it was only my 
 self to think of. But I m representing another 
 man s interest too. I ain t takin no chances." 
 
 "Yes I noticed you was one of them pru 
 dent guys," murmured Jim. 
 
 Pete ignored the interruption. 
 
 "So, not rubbin it in or anything, we d 
 best use Bill s plan. You lads hike off back the 
 way I come, and I 11 take your rifle and drag 
 it. So long! Had a good time with you." 
 
 "Adidsl" said Bill, swinging into the iad* 
 die. 
 
30 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "Hold on, Bill! Give Johnson back his 
 money," said Jim. 
 
 " Oh, you keep it. You won it fair. I did n t 
 go to the finish." 
 
 "Look here what do you think I am? 
 You take this money, or I ll be sore as a boil. 
 There! So long, old hand! Be good!" He 
 spurred after Bill. 
 
 Mr. Johnson brought the repeater from the 
 dugout and saddled old Midnight. As he 
 pulled the cinches tight, he gazed regretfully at 
 his late companions, sky-lined as they topped 
 a rise. 
 
 "There!" said Mr. Johnson with convic 
 tion. There goes a couple of right nice boys ! " 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE immemorial traditions of Old Spain, 
 backed by the counsel of a brazen sun, 
 made a last stand against the inexorable cen 
 turies: Tucson was at siesta; noonday lull was 
 drowsy in the corridors of the Merchants and 
 Miners Bank. Green shades along the south 
 guarded the cool and quiet spaciousness of the 
 Merchants and Miners, flooded with clear 
 white light from the northern windows. In the 
 lobby a single client, leaning on the sill at the 
 note-teller s window, meekly awaited the con 
 venience of the office force. 
 
 The Castilian influence had reduced the 
 office force, at this ebb hour of business, to a 
 spruce, shirt-sleeved young man, green-vizored 
 as to his eyes, seated at a mid-office desk, quite 
 engrossed with mysterious clerical matters. 
 
 The office force had glanced up at Mr. John 
 son s first entrance, but only to resume its 
 
32 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 work at once. Such industry is not the custom; 
 among the assets of any bank, courtesy is the 
 most indispensable item. Mr. Johnson was 
 not unversed in the ways of urbanity; the pur 
 posed and palpable incivility was not wasted 
 upon him ; nor yet the expression conveyed by 
 the back of the indefatigable clerical person 
 a humped, reluctant, and rebellious back. If 
 ever a back steeled itself to carry out a dis 
 tasteful task according to instructions, this was 
 that back. Mr. Pete Johnson sighed in sym 
 pathy. 
 
 The minutes droned by. A clock, of hitherto 
 unassuming habit, became clamorous ; it echoed 
 along the dreaming corridors. Mr. Johnson 
 sighed again. 
 
 The stone sill upon which he leaned re 
 flected from its polished surface a face carved 
 to patience; but if the patient face had noted 
 its own reflection it might have remarked 
 and adjusted eyebrows not so patient, flat 
 tened to a level; and a slight quiver in the 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 33 
 
 tip of a predatory nose. The pen squeaked 
 across glazed paper. Mr. Johnson took from 
 his pocket a long, thin cigar and a box of safety 
 matches. 
 
 The match crackled, startling in the silence; 
 the clerical person turned in his chair and 
 directed at the prospective customer a stare 
 so baleful that the cigar was forgotten. The 
 flame nipped Johnson s thumb; he dropped 
 the match on the tiled floor and stepped upon 
 it. The clerk hesitated and then rose. 
 
 "He loves me he loves me not!" mur 
 mured Mr. Johnson sadly, plucking the petals 
 from an imaginary daisy. 
 
 The clerk sauntered to the teller s wicket 
 and frowned upon his customer from under 
 eyebrows arched and supercilious; he pre 
 served a haughty silence. Before this official 
 disapproval Peter s eyes wavered and fell, 
 abashed. 
 
 "I ll I ll stick my face through there if 
 you d like to step on it!" he faltered. 
 
34 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 The official eyebrows grew arrogant. 
 
 "You are wasting my time. Have you any 
 business here?" 
 
 "Ya-as. Be you the cashier?" 
 
 "His assistant." 
 
 " I d like to borrow some money, " said Pete 
 timidly. He tucked away the unlit cigar. 
 " Two thousand. Name of Johnson. Triangle 
 E brand Yavapai County. 1 Two hundred 
 Herefords in a fenced township. Three hun 
 dred and twenty acres patented land. Sixty 
 acres under ditch. I d give you a mortgage on 
 that. Pete Johnson Peter Wallace Johnson 
 on mortgages and warrants." 
 
 " I do not think we would consider it." 
 
 "Good security none better," said Pete. 
 "Good for three times two thousand at a 
 forced sale." 
 
 " Doubtless ! " The official shoulders shrugged 
 incredulity. 
 
 "I m known round here you could look 
 up my standing, verify ^titles, and so on," 
 urged Pete. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 35 
 
 "I could not make the loan on my own 
 authority." 
 
 Pete s face fell. 
 
 "Can t I see Mr. Cans, then?" he persisted. 
 
 "He s out to luncheon." 
 
 "Be back soon?" 
 
 "I really could not say." 
 
 "I might talk to Mr. Longman, perhaps?" 
 
 "Mr. Longman is on a trip to the Coast." 
 
 Johnson twisted his fingers nervously on the 
 onyx sill. Then he raised his downcast eyes, 
 lit with a fresh hope. 
 
 "Is is the janitor in?" he asked. 
 
 "You are pleased to be facetious, sir," the 
 teller replied. His lip curled; he turned away, 
 tilting his chin with conscious dignity. 
 
 Mr. Johnson tapped the sill with the finger 
 of authority. 
 
 "Young man, do you want 1 should throw 
 this bank out of the window? " he said severely. 
 "Because if you don t, you uncover some one 
 a grown man can do business with. You re 
 
36 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 suffering from delusions of grandeur, fair 
 young sir. I almost believe you have per 
 mitted yourself to indulge in some levity with 
 me me, P. Wallace Johnson ! And if I note 
 any more light-hearted conduct on your part 
 I 11 shake myself and make merry with you till 
 you ll think the roof has done fell on you. 
 Now you dig up the Grand Panjandrum, with 
 the little round button on top, or I 11 come in 
 unto you ! Produce ! Trot ! 
 
 The cashier s dignity abated. Mr. Johnson 
 was, by repute, no stranger to him. Not sorry 
 to pass this importunate borrower on to other 
 hands, he tapped at a door labeled "Vice- 
 President," opened it, and said something in a 
 low voice. From this room a man emerged at 
 once Marsh, vice-president, solid of body, 
 strong of brow. Clenched between heavy lips 
 was a half-burned cigar, on which he puffed 
 angrily. 
 
 "Well, Johnson, what s this?" he de 
 manded. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 37 
 
 "You got money to sell? I want to buy some. 
 Let me come in and talk it up to you." 
 
 "Let him in, Hudson," said Marsh. His 
 cigar took on a truculent angle as he listened 
 to Johnson s proposition. 
 
 It appeared that Johnson s late outburst 
 of petulance had cleared his bosom of much 
 perilous stuff. His crisp tones carried a sug 
 gestion of lingering asperity, but otherwise he 
 bore himself with becoming modesty and diffi 
 dence in the presence of the great man. He 
 stated his needs briskly and briefly, as before. 
 
 "Money is tight," said Marsh curtly. 
 
 He scowled; he thrust his hands into his 
 pockets as if to guard them; he rocked back 
 upon his heels ; his eyes were leveled at a point 
 in space beyond Pete s shoulder; he clamped 
 his cigar between compressed lips and puffed a 
 cloud of smoke from a corner of a mouth other 
 wise grimly tight. 
 
 Mr. Peter Johnson thought again of that 
 unlit cigar, came swiftly to tiptoe, and puffed 
 
38 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 a light from the glowing tip of Marsh s cigar 
 before that astonished person could withdraw 
 his gaze from the contemplation of remote 
 infinities. The banker recoiled, flushed and 
 frowning; the teller bent hastily over his ledger. 
 
 Johnson, puffing luxuriously, renewed his 
 argument with a guileless face. Marsh shook 
 his head and made a bear-trap mouth. 
 
 "Why don t you go to Prescott, Johnson? 
 There s where your stuff is. They know you 
 better than we do/ 1 
 
 "Why, Mr. Marsh, I don t want to go to 
 Prescott. Takes too long. I need this money 
 right away." 
 
 "Really but that is hardly our affair, is 
 it?" A frosty smile accompanied the query. 
 
 "Aw, what s wrong? Isn t that security all 
 right?" urged Pete. 
 
 "No doubt the security is exactly as you 
 say," said the banker, "but your property is 
 in another county, a long distance from here. 
 We would have to make inquiries and send the 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 39 
 
 mortgage to be filed in Prescott very incon 
 venient. Besides, as I told you before, money 
 is tight. We regret that we cannot see our way 
 to accommodate you. This is final!" 
 
 "Shucks!" said Pete, crestfallen and dis 
 appointed; he lingered uncertainly, twisting 
 his hatbrim between his hands. 
 
 " That is final," repeated the banker. " Was 
 there anything else?" 
 
 "A check to cash," said Pete humbly. 
 
 He went back into the lobby, much chas 
 tened; the spring lock of the door snapped be 
 hind him. 
 
 "Wait on this gentleman, if you please, Mr. 
 Hudson," said Marsh, and busied himself at a 
 cabinet. 
 
 Hudson rose from his desk and moved across 
 to the cashier s window. His lip curved dis 
 dainfully. Mr. Johnson s feet were brisk and 
 cheerful on the tiles. When his face appeared 
 at the window, his hat and the long black cigar 
 were pushed up to angles parallel, jaunty and 
 
40 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 perilous. He held in his hand a sheaf of papers 
 belted with a rubber band; he slid over the top 
 most of these papers, face down. 
 
 "It s endorsed," he said, pointing to his 
 heavy signature. 
 
 "How will you have it, sir?" Hudson in 
 quired with a smile of mocking deference. 
 
 "Quick and now," said Pete. 
 
 Hudson flipped over the check. The sneer 
 died from his face. His tongue licked at his 
 paling lips. 
 
 "What does this mean?" he stammered. 
 
 Can t you read?" said Pete. 
 
 The cashier did not answer. He turned and 
 called across the room: 
 
 "Mr. Marsh! Mr. Marsh!" 
 
 Marsh came quickly, warned by the star 
 tled note in the cashier s voice. Hudson passed 
 him the check with hands that trembled a 
 little. The vice-president s face mottled with 
 red and white. The check was made to the 
 order of P. W. Johnson; it was signed by Henry 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 41 
 
 Bergman, sheriff of Pima County, and the 
 richest cowman of the Santa Cruz Valley; the 
 amount was eighty-six thousand dollars. 
 
 Marsh glowered at Johnson in a cold fury. 
 
 44 Call up Bergman!" he ordered. 
 
 Hudson made haste to obey. 
 
 " Oh, that s all right ! I d just as soon wait, " 
 said Pete cheerfully. " Hank s at home, any 
 how. I told him maybe you d want to ask 
 about the check." 
 
 "He should have notified us before drawing 
 out any such amount," fumed Marsh. "This 
 is most unusual, for a small bank like this. 
 He told us he should n t need this money until 
 this fall." 
 
 44 Draft on El Paso will do. Don t have to 
 have cash." 
 
 44 All very well but it will be a great in 
 convenience to us, just the same." 
 
 4 Really but that is hardly our affair, is 
 it?" said Pete carelessly. 
 
 The banker smote the shelf with an angry 
 
42 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 hand ; some of the rouleaus of gold stacked on 
 the inner shelf toppled and fell; gold pieces 
 clattered on the floor. 
 
 " Johnson, what is your motive? What are 
 you up to?" 
 
 "It s all perfectly simple. Old Hank and 
 me used to be implicated together in the 
 cow business down on the Concho. One of 
 the Goliad Bergmans early German set 
 tlers." 
 
 Here Hudson hung up and made interrup 
 tion. 
 
 "Bergman says the check is right," he re 
 ported. 
 
 Johnson resumed his explanation: 
 
 "As I was say in , I reckon I know all the 
 old-time cowmen from here to breakfast and 
 back. Old Joe Benavides, now one of your 
 best depositors; I fished Joe out of Manzanillo 
 Bay thirty year back. He was all drowned but 
 Amen." 
 
 Wetting his thumb he slipped off the next 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 43 
 
 paper from under the rubber band. Marsh 
 eyed the sheaf apprehensively and winced. 
 
 "Got one of Joe s checks here," Pete con 
 tinued, smoothing it out. " But maybe I won t 
 need to cash it to-day. " 
 
 " Johnson," said the vice-president, "are you 
 trying to start a run on this bank? What do 
 you want?" 
 
 "My money. What the check calls for. 
 That is final." 
 
 "This is sheer malice." 
 
 "Not a bit of it. You re all wrong. Just 
 common prudence that s all. You see, I 
 needed a little money. As I was tellin you, I 
 got right smart of property, but no cash just 
 now; nor any comin till steer-sellin time. So 
 I come down to Tucson on the rustle. Five 
 banks in Tucson; four of em, countin yours, 
 turned me down cold." 
 
 "If you had got Bergman to sign with 
 you " Marsh began. 
 
 "Tell that to the submarines," said Pete. 
 
44 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "Good irrigated land is better than any man s 
 name on a note; and I don t care who that man 
 is. A man might die or run away, or play the 
 market. Land stays put. Well, after my first 
 glimpse of the cold shoulder I ciphered round 
 a spell. I m a great hand to cipher round^ 
 Some one is out to down me; some one is givin 
 out orders. Who? Mayer Zurich, I judged. 
 He sold me a shoddy coat once. And he wept 
 because he could n t loan me the money I 
 wanted, himself. He s one of these liers-in-wait 
 you read about Mayer is. 
 
 "So I did n t come to you till the last, bein* 
 as Zurich was one of your directors. I studied 
 some more and then I hunted up old Hank 
 Bergman and told him my troubles," said Pete 
 suavely. "He expressed quite some consider 
 able solicitude. Why, Petey, this is a shockin 
 disclosure! he says. A banker is a man that 
 makes a livin loanin other people s money. 
 Lots of marble and brass to a bank, salaries 
 and other expenses. Show me a bank that s 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 45 
 
 quit lendin money and I 11 show you a bank 
 that s due to bust, muy pronto! I got quite 
 a wad in the Merchants and Miners/ he says, 
 4 and you alarm me. I 11 give you a check for 
 it, and you go there first off to-morrow and see 
 if they ll lend you what you need. You got 
 good security. If they ain t lendin / he says, 
 then you just cash my check and invest it for 
 me where it will be safe. I lose the interest for 
 only four days/ he says last Monday, the 
 fifteenth, being my quarter day. Hold out 
 what you need for yourself. 
 
 " I don t want any/ says I. The First Na 
 tional say they can fit me out by Wednesday 
 if I can t get it before. Man don t want to 
 borrow from his friends/ says I. Then put my 
 roll in the First National/ says Hank. That s 
 all ! Only I saw some of the other old-tim 
 ers last night." Pete fingered his sheaf signifi 
 cantly. 
 
 " You have us ! " said Marsh. " What do you 
 want?" 
 
46 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "I want the money for this check so 
 you 11 know I m not permeated with any ideas 
 about heaping coals of fire on your old bald 
 head. Come through, real earnest! I ll see 
 about the rest. Exerting financial pressure is 
 what they call this little racket you worked on 
 me, I believe. It s a real nice game. I like it. 
 If you ever mull or meddle with my affairs 
 again I 11 turn another check. That s for your 
 official information so you can keep the 
 bank from any little indiscretions. I m telling 
 you! This is n t blackmail. This is directions. 
 Sit down and write me a draft on El Paso." 
 
 Marsh complied. Peter Johnson inspected 
 the draft carefully. 
 
 "So much for the bank for to-day, the nine 
 teenth," said Pete. "Now a few kind words 
 for you as the individual, Mr. George Marsh, 
 quite aside from your capacity as a banker. 
 You report to Zurich that I applied for a loan 
 and you refused it not a word more. I m 
 tellin you! Put a blab on your office boy." He 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 47 
 
 rolled his thumb at young Hudson. "And here 
 after if you ever horn in on my affairs so much 
 as the weight of a finger tip I m tellin you 
 now! I 11 appear to you!" 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE world was palpably a triangle, base 
 less to southward; walled out by iron, 
 radiant ramparts a black range, gateless, 
 on the east; a gray range on the west, broken, 
 spiked, and bristling. At the northern limit of 
 vision the two ranges closed together to what 
 seemed relatively the sharp apex of the tri 
 angle, the mere intersection of two lines. This 
 point, this seemingly dimensionless dot, was 
 in reality twoscore weary miles of sandhills, 
 shapeless, vague, and low; waterless, color 
 less, and forlorn. Southward the central desert 
 was uninhabitable; opinions differed about the 
 edges. 
 
 Still in Arizona, the eye wearied; miles and 
 leagues slid together to indistinguishable 
 inches. Then came a low line of scattered hills 
 that roughly marked the Mexican border. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 49 
 
 The mirage played whimsical pranks with 
 these outpost hills. They became, in turn, 
 cones, pyramids, boxes, benches, chimney 
 stacks, hourglasses. Sometimes they soared 
 high in air, like the kites of a baby god; and, 
 beneath, the unbroken desert stretched afar, 
 wavering, misty, and dim. 
 
 Again, on clear, still days, these hills showed 
 crystalline, thin, icy, cameo-sharp; beyond, 
 between, faint golden splotches of broad So- 
 noran plain faded away to nothingness; and, far 
 beyond that nothingness, hazy Sonoran peaks 
 of dimmest blue rose from illimitable immen 
 sities, like topmasts of a very large ship on a 
 very small globe; and the earth was really 
 round, as alleged. 
 
 It was fitting and proper that the desert, as 
 a whole, had no name: the spinning earth it 
 self has none. Inconsiderable nooks and cor 
 ners were named, indeed Crow Flat, the 
 Temporal, Moonshine, the Rinconada. It 
 should rather be said, perhaps, that the desert 
 
50 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 had no accepted name. Alma Mater, Lungs 
 called it. But no one minded Lungs. 
 
 Mr. Stanley Mitchell woke early in the Blue 
 Bedroom to see the morning made. He threw 
 back the tarpaulin and sat up, yawning; with 
 every line of his face crinkled up, ready to 
 laugh for gladness. 
 
 The morning was shaping up well. Glints of 
 red snapped and sparkled in the east; a few 
 late stars loitered along the broad, clean skies. 
 A jerky clatter of iron on rock echoed from 
 the cliffs. That was the four hobbled horses, 
 browsing on the hillside: they snuffed and 
 snorted cheerfully, rejoicing in the freshness of 
 dawn. From a limestone bluff, ten feet behind 
 the bed, came a silver tinkle of falling water 
 from a spring, dripping into its tiny pool. 
 
 Stan drew in a great breath and snuffed, 
 exactly as the horses snuffed and from the 
 same reason to express delight; just as a 
 hungry man smacks his lips over a titbit. 
 Pungent, aromatic, the odor of wood smoke 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 51 
 
 alloyed the taintless air of dawn. The whole 
 some smell of clean, brown earth, the spicy 
 tang of crushed herb and shrub, of cedar and 
 juniper, mingled with a delectable and savory 
 fragrance of steaming coffee and sizzling, 
 spluttering venison. 
 
 Pete Johnson sat cross-legged before the 
 fire. This mess of venison was no hit-or-miss 
 affair; he was preparing a certain number of 
 venison steaks, giving to each separate steak 
 the consideration of an artist. 
 
 Stanley Mitchell kicked the blankets flying. 
 
 "Whoo-hoo-oo! This is the life!" he pro 
 claimed. Orisons more pious have held less 
 gratitude. 
 
 He tugged on one boot, reached for the other 
 and then leaped to his feet like a jack-in- 
 the-box. With the boot in his hand he pointed 
 to the south. High on the next shadowy range, 
 thirty miles away, a dozen scattered camp- 
 fires glowed across the dawn. 
 
 "What the Billy-hell?" he said, startled. 
 
52 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 " Stan-ley !" 
 
 "I will say wallop! I won t be a lady if I 
 can t say wallop!" quoth Stan rebelliously. 
 What s doing over at the Gavilan? There s 
 never been three men at once in those fiend- 
 forsaken pinnacles before. Hey ! S pose they ve 
 struck it rich, like we did?" 
 
 "I m afraid not," sighed Pete. "You 
 toddle along and wash urn s paddies. She s 
 most ripe." 
 
 With a green-wood poker he lifted the lid 
 from the bake-oven. The biscuit were not 
 browned to his taste; he dumped the blacken 
 ing coals from the lid and slid it into the glow 
 ing heart of the fire; he raked out a new bed 
 of coals and lifted the little three-legged bake- 
 oven over them; with his poker he skillfully 
 flirted fresh coals on the rimmed lid and put it 
 back on the oven. He placed the skillet of 
 venison on a flat rock at his elbow and poured 
 coffee into two battered tin cups. Breakfast 
 was now ready, and Pete raised his voice in 
 the traditional dinner call of the ranges: 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 53 
 
 "Come and get it or I ll throw it out!" 
 
 Stanley came back from a brisk toilet at 
 Ironspring. He took a preliminary sip of coffee, 
 speared a juicy steak, and eyed his companion 
 darkly. Mr. Johnson plied knife and fork as 
 siduously, with eyes downcast and demure. 
 
 Stanley Mitchell s smooth young face lined 
 with suspicion. 
 
 "When you ve been up to some deviltry I 
 can always tell it on you you look so in 
 credibly meek and meechin , like a cat eatin 
 the canary," he remarked severely. "Thank 
 you for a biscuit. And the sugar! Now what 
 warlockry is this?" He jerked a thumb at the 
 far-off fires. "What s the merry prank?" 
 
 Mr. Johnson sighed again. 
 
 "Deception. Treachery. Mine." He looked 
 out across the desert to the Gavilan Hills with 
 a complacent eye. "And breach of trust. 
 Mine, again." 
 
 "Who you been betrayin now?" 
 
 "Just you. You and your pardner; the last 
 
54 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 bein myself. You know them location papers 
 of ours I was to get recorded at Tucson? " 
 
 Stanley nodded. 
 
 "Well, now," said Pete, " I did n t file them 
 papers. Something real curious happened on 
 the way in and I reckon I m the most su 
 perstitious man you ever see. So I tried a little 
 experiment. Instead, I wrote out a notice for 
 that little old ledge we found over on the Gav- 
 ilan a month back. I filed that, just to see if 
 any one was keeping cases on us and I filed 
 it the very last thing before I left Tucson: 
 You see what s happened." He waved his 
 empty coffee-cup at the camp-fires. "I come 
 right back and we rode straight to Ironspring. 
 But there s been people ridin faster than us 
 ridin day and night. Son, if our copper claims 
 had really been in the Gavilan, instead of a-hun- 
 dred-and-then-some long miles in another- 
 guess direction then what?" 
 
 " We d have found our claim jumped and a 
 bunch to swear they d been working there be- 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 55 
 
 fore the date of our notices; that they did n t 
 find the scratch of a pick on the claim, no 
 papers and no monument that s what we d 
 have found." 
 
 " Correct! Pass the meat." 
 
 ^But we haven t told a soul," protested 
 Stanley. "How could any one know? We all 
 but died of thirst getting back across the desert 
 the wind rubbed out our tracks; we laid up 
 at Soledad Springs a week before any one saw 
 us; when we finally went in to Cobre no one 
 knew where we had been, that we had found 
 anything, or even that we d been looking for 
 anything. How could any one know?" 
 
 "This breakfast is getting cold," said Pete 
 Johnson. "Good grub hurts no one. Let seat 
 it. Then I 11 let a little ray of intelligence filter 
 into your darkened mind." 
 
 Breakfast finished, Stan piled the tin dishes 
 with a clatter. "Now then, old Greedy! 
 Break the news to me." 
 
 Pete considered young Stan through half- 
 
56 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 closed lids a tanned, smooth-faced, laugh* 
 ing, curly-headed, broad-shouldered young 
 giant. 
 
 "You got any enemies, pardner?" 
 
 "Not one in the world that I know of," de 
 clared Stan cheerfully. 
 
 "Back in New York, maybe?" 
 \ "Not a one. No reason to have one." 
 
 Pete shook his head reflectively. 
 
 "You re dreadful dumb, you know. Think 
 again. Think hard. Take some one s girl 
 away from him, maybe?" 
 
 "Not a girl. Never had but one Annie," 
 said Stanley. " I m her Joe." 
 
 " Ya-as. Back in New York. I Ve posted let 
 ters to her: Abingdon P. O. Name of Selden." 
 
 Stanley went brick red. 
 
 "That s her. I m her Joe. And when we 
 get this little old bonanza of ours to grinding 
 she won t be in New York any more. Come 
 again, old-timer. What s all this piffle got to 
 do with our mine?" 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 57 
 
 "If you only had a little brains," sighed 
 Johnson disconsolately, " I d soon find out who 
 had it in for you, and why. It s dreadful in 
 convenient to have a pardner like that. Why, 
 you poor, credulous baa-lamb of a trustful idiot, 
 when you let me go off to file them papers, 
 don t you see you give me the chance to rob 
 you of a mine worth, just as she stands, 
 most any amount of money you chance to 
 mention? Not you! You let me ride off with 
 out a misgivin ." 
 
 "Pish!" remarked Stan scornfully. "Twad 
 dle! Tommyrot! Pickles!" 
 
 Pete wagged a solemn forefinger. 
 
 " If you was n t plumb simple-minded and 
 trustin you would a tumbled long ago that 
 somebody was putting a hoodoo on every play 
 you make. I caught on before you d been here 
 six months. I thought, of course, you d been 
 doin dirt to some one till I come to know 
 you." 
 
 "I thank you for those kind words," 
 
58 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 grinned Mitchell; "also, for the friendly ex 
 planation with which you cover up some bad 
 luck and more greenhorn s incompetence. 1 
 
 "No greenhorn could be so thumbhand- 
 sided as all that," rejoined Pete earnestly. 
 "Your irrigation ditches break and wash out; 
 cattle get into your crops whenever you go to 
 town; but your fences never break when you re 
 round the ranch. Notice that?" 
 
 "I did observe something of that nature," 
 confessed Mitchell. "I laid it to sheer bad 
 luck." 
 
 The older man snorted. 
 
 "Bad luck! You ve been hoodooed! After 
 that, you went off by your lonesome and tried 
 cattle. Your windmills broke down; your 
 cattle was stole plumb opprobrious Mex 
 icans blamed, of course. And the very first 
 winter the sheep drifted in on you where no 
 sheep had never blatted before and eat you 
 out of house and home." 
 
 " I sold out in the spring," reflected Stanley. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 59 
 
 "I ran two hundred head of stock up to one 
 hundred and twelve in six months. Go on! 
 Your story interests me strangely. I begin to 
 think I was not as big a fool as I thought I was, 
 and that it was foolish of me to ever think my 
 folly was " 
 
 Johnson interrupted him. 
 
 "Then you bought a bunch of sheep. Son, 
 you can t realize how great-minded it is of me 
 to overlook that slip of yours! You w"as out of 
 the way of every man in the world; you was on 
 your own range, watering at your own wells 
 the only case like that on record. And the 
 second dark night some petulant and highly 
 anonymous cowboys run off your herder and 
 stampeded your woollies over a bluff. " 
 
 "Sheep outrages have happened before," ob 
 served Stan, rather dryly. 
 
 "Sheep outrages are perpetrated by cowmen 
 on cow ranges," rejoined Pete hotly. "I guess 
 I ought to know. Sheepmen are n t ever killed 
 on their own ranges; it isn t respectable. 
 
60 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 Sheepmen are all right in their place and 
 hell s the place." 
 
 "Peter!" said Stan. "Such langwidge!" 
 
 "Wallop! Wallop!" barked Peter, defiant 
 and indignant. "I will say wallop! Now you 
 shut up whilst I go on with your sad history. 
 Son, you was afflicted some with five-card in 
 somnia and right off, when you first came, 
 you had it fair shoved on you by people usu 
 ally most disobligin . It was n t just for your 
 money; there was plenty could stack em 
 higher than you could, and them fairly achin 
 to be fleeced, at that. If your head had n t 
 been attached to your shoulders good and 
 strong, if you had n t figured to be about 
 square, or maybe rectangular, you had a 
 chance to be a poker fiend or a booze hoist." 
 
 "You re spoofing me, old dear. Wake up; 
 it s morning." 
 
 "Don t fool yourself, son. There was a 
 steady organized effort to get you in bad. And 
 it took money to get all these people after your 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 61 
 
 goat. Some one round here was managin the 
 game, for pay. But t was n t no Arizona head 
 that did the plannin . Any Rocky Mountain 
 roughneck mean enough for that would a* 
 just killed you once and been done with it. 
 No, sir; this party was plumb civilized this 
 guy that wanted your goat. He wanted to 
 spoil your rep; he probably had conscientious 
 scruples about bloodshed. Early trainin ," 
 said Mr. Johnson admiringly, "is a wonderful 
 thing! And, after they found you wouldn t 
 fall for the husks and things, they went out to 
 put a crimp in your bank roll. Now, who is to 
 gain by putting you on the blink, huh?" 
 
 "No one at all," said Stan. "You re seein 
 things at night! What happened on the Cobre 
 Trail to stir up your superstitions?" 
 
 "Two gay young lads punchers of Zu 
 rich s tried to catch me with my gun un 
 loaded. That s what! And if herdin with 
 them blasted baa-sheep had n t just about 
 ruined your intellect, you d know why, with- 
 
62 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 out asking/ said Pete. " Look now! I was so 
 sure that you was bein systematically horns- 
 woggled that, when two rank strangers made 
 that sort of a ranikiboo play at me, I talked 
 it out with myself, like this not out loud 
 just me and Pete colloguing: 
 
 These gentlemen are pickin on you, 
 Pete. What s that for? Why, says Pete, 
 that s because you re Stan s pardner, of 
 course. These two laddie-bucks are some small 
 part of the gang, bunch, or congregation that s 
 been preyin on Stan. What they tryin to 
 put over on Stan now? I asks, curiosity get 
 ting the better of my good manners. Not to 
 pry into private matters any, says I, but this 
 thing is getting personal. I can feel malicious 
 animal magnetism coursin through every vein 
 and leapin from crag to crag, says I. A joke s 
 a joke, and I can take a joke as well as any 
 man; but when I m sick in my bed, and the 
 undertaker comes to my house and looks into 
 my window and says, "Darlin I I am waitin* 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 63 
 
 for thee!" that s no joke. And if Stanley 
 Mitchell s facetious friends begin any hilarity 
 with me I 11 transact negotiations with em 
 sure! So I put it up to you, Petey square 
 and aboveboard what are they try in to work 
 on Stan now? 
 
 " To get his mine, you idjit! says Pete. 
 Now be reasonable, says I. How d they 
 know we got any mine? Did n t you tote a 
 sample out of that blisterin old desert? says 
 Pete. We did, I admits, just one little chunk 
 the size of a red apple and it weighed near a 
 couple of ton whilst we was perishin for water. 
 But we stuck to it closer than a rich brother- 
 in-law, says I. You been had! jeers Pete. 
 What kind of talk is this? You caught that 
 off o Thorpe, over on the Malibu you been 
 had ! Talk United States ! Do you mean I ve 
 been bunked? I spoke up sharp; but I was 
 feelin pretty sick, for I just remembered that 
 we did n t register that sample when we mailed 
 it to the assayer. 
 
64 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 " Your nugget s been seen, and sawed, and 
 smeltered. Got that? As part of the skuldug 
 gery they been slippin to young Stan, your 
 package has been opened, says Petey, leerin 
 at me. Great Scott! Then they know we got 
 just about the richest mine in Arizona! I says, 
 with my teeth chatterin so that I stammers. 
 Gosh, no! Else the coyotes would be pickin* 
 your bones, says Pete. They know you ve 
 got some rich ore, but they figure it to be some 
 narrow, pinchin , piddlin little vein some- 
 wheres. How can they guess you found a solid 
 mountain of the stuff? 
 
 " Sufferin cats! says I. Then is every 
 play I make henceforth and forever, amen 
 to be gaumed up by a mess of hirelin* 
 bandogs? Persecutin Stan was all very well 
 but if they take to molesting me any, it s 
 going to make my blood fairly boil! Is some 
 one going to draw down wages for makin me 
 mizzable all the rest of my whole life? No 
 such luck, says Petey. Your little ore pack- 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIt 65 
 
 age was taken from the mail as part of the 
 system of pesterin Stanley but, once the 
 big boss-devil glued his bug-eyes on that free- 
 workin copper stuff, he throwed up his em 
 ployer and his per diem, and is now operat 
 ing roundabout on his own. They take it you 
 might have papers about you showing where 
 your claim is location papers, likely. That s 
 all! These ducks, here, want to go through 
 you. Nobody wants to kill you not now. 
 Not yet any more than usual. But, if you 
 ask me, said Petey, if they ever come to know 
 as much about that copper claim as you know, 
 they ll do you up. Yes, sir! From ambush, 
 likely. So long as they are dependin on you to 
 lead them to it, you re safe from that much, 
 maybe. After they find out where it is 
 cuidado! 1 
 
 "But who took that package out of the 
 mail, Petey? It might have been any one of 
 several or more old Zurich, here at Cobre; 
 or the postmaster at Silverbell; or the postal 
 
66 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 clerks on the railroad ; or the post-office people 
 at El Paso/ 
 
 "You re an old pig-headed fool/ says Pete 
 to me; and you lie like a thief. You know who 
 it was, same as I do old C. Mayer Zurich, 
 grand champion lightweight collar-and-elbow 
 grafter and liar, cowman, grubstaker, general 
 storekeeper, postmaster, and all-round crook, 
 right here in Cobre right here where young 
 Stanley s been gettin em dealt from the bot 
 tom for three years. Them other post-office 
 fellows never had no truck with Stanley 
 never so much as heard of him. Zurich s here. 
 He had the disposition, the motive, the oppor 
 tunity, and the habit. Besides, he sold you a 
 shoddy coat once. Forgotten that? " 
 
 Pete paused to glower over that coat; and 
 young Mitchell, big-eyed and gasping, seized 
 the chance to put in a word: 
 
 "You re an ingenious old nightmare, pard- 
 ner you almost make it convincing. But 
 Great Scott, man! Can t you see that your 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 67 
 
 fine, plausible theory is all built on surmise and 
 wild conjecture? You have n t got a leg to 
 stand on not one single fact!" 
 
 " Whilst I was first a-constructing this in 
 genious theory your objection might have car 
 ried force; for I did n t have a fact to stand 
 on, as you observe. I conjectured round pretty 
 spry, too. Reckon it took me all of half a 
 second while them two warriors was giving 
 me the evil eye. I 11 tell you how it was." He 
 related the story of the shooting match and 
 the lost bet. "And to this unprovoked de 
 sign against an inoffensive stranger I fitted the 
 only possible meaning and shape that would 
 make a lick of sense, dovetailin in with the 
 real honest-to-goodness facts I already knew." 
 
 "But don t you see, old thing, you re still 
 up in the air? Your theory does n t touch 
 ground anywhere." 
 
 "Stanley my poor deluded boy! when 
 I got to the railroad I wired that assayer right 
 off. Our samples never reached El Paso. So I 
 
68 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 wrote out my fake location and filed it. See 
 what followed that filing over yonder? I 
 come this way on purpose, expecting to see 
 those fires, Stanley. If they had n t been there, 
 we d have gone on to our mine. Now we ll 
 go anywhere else." 
 
 "Well, I ll just be teetotally damned!" Stan 
 ley remarked with great fervor. 
 
 "Trickling into your thick skull, is it? Son, 
 get a piece of charcoal. Now you make black 
 marks on that white rock as I tell you, to hold 
 down my statements so they don t flutter 
 away with the wind. Ready? Number One: 
 Our copper samples did n t reach the assay er 
 
 make a long black mark. . . . Therefore 
 make a short black mark. . . . Number Two: 
 Either Old Pete s crazy theory is correct in 
 every particular a long black mark. ... Or 
 
 now a short black mark. . . . Number Three: 
 The assayer has thrown us down a long 
 black mark. . . . Number Four: Which would 
 be just as bad make a long black mark." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 STANLEY MITCHELL looked hard at 
 the long black mark; he looked out along 
 the south to the low line of the Gavilan Hills; 
 he looked at the red arc of sun peering sud 
 denly over the Comobabi Range. 
 
 " Well and so forth!" he said. "Here is 
 a burn from the branding! And what are we 
 going to do now?" 
 
 "Wash the dishes. You do it." 
 * "You are a light-minded and frivolous old 
 man," said Stan. "What are we going to do 
 about our mine?" 
 
 "I ve done told you. We per you 
 are due to wash up the dishes. Do the next 
 thing next. That s a pretty good rule. Mean 
 time I will superintend and smoke and reflect." 
 
 "Do your reflecting out loud, can t you?" 
 said Stan. His smooth forehead wrinkled and 
 a sudden cleft appeared between his eyebrows, 
 
70 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 witness of an unaccustomed intentness of 
 thought. "Say, Pete; this partnership of ours 
 is n t on the level. You put in half the work and 
 all the brains." 
 
 " Sail right/ said Pete Johnson. "You 
 furnish the luck and personal pulchritude. 
 That ain t all, either. I m pickin up some 
 considerable education from you, learning how 
 to pronounce words like that pulchritude. 
 I mispronounced dreadful, I reckon." 
 
 "I can tell you how to not mispronounce 
 half as many words as you do now," said Stan. 
 
 "How s that?" said Pete, greatly interested. 
 
 "Only talk half so much." 
 
 "Fair enough, kid! It would work, too. 
 That ain t all, either. If I talked less you d 
 talk more; and, talking more, you d study out 
 for yourself a lot of the things I tell you now, 
 gettin credit from you for much wisdom, just 
 because I hold the floor. Go to it, boy! Tell 
 us how the affairs of We, Us & Company size 
 up to you at this juncture." 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 71 
 
 "Here goes," said Stan. "First, we don t 
 want to let on that we ve got anything at all 
 on our minds much less a rich mine. After 
 a reasonable time we should make some casual 
 mention of discontent that we ve sent off rock 
 to an assay er and not heard from it. Not to 
 say a word would make our conspirators more 
 suspicious; a careless mention of it might 
 make them think our find was n t such-a- 
 much, after all. Say! I suppose it would n t do 
 to pick up a collection of samples from the 
 best mines round Cobre and inquire round 
 who to write to for some more, from Jerome 
 and Cananea, maybe; and then, after talking 
 them up a while, we could send one of these 
 samples off to be assayed, just for curiosity 
 what?" 
 
 "Bear looking into," said Pete; "though I 
 think they d size it up as an attempt to throw 
 em off the trail. Maybe we can smooth that 
 idea out so we can do something with it. Pro 
 ceed." 
 
72 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "Then we ll have to play up to that loca 
 tion you filed by hiking to the Gavilan and 
 going through the motions of doing assessment 
 work on that dinky little claim." 
 
 Feeling his way, Stan watched the older 
 man s eyes. Pete nodded approval. 
 
 "But, Pete, are n t we taking a big chance 
 that some one will find our claim? It is n t re 
 corded, -and our notice will run out unless we 
 do some assessment work pretty quick. Sup 
 pose some one should stumble onto it?" 
 
 "Well, we ve got to take the chance," said 
 Pete. "And the chance of some one stumbling 
 on our find by blind luck, like we did, is n t a 
 drop in the bucket to the chance that we 11 be 
 followed if we try to slip away while these 
 fellows are worked up with the fever. Seventy- 
 five thousand round dollars to one canceled 
 stamp that some one has his eye glued on 
 us through a telescope right this very now! 
 I would n t bet the postage stamp on it, at 
 that odds. No, sir! Right now things shape 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 73 
 
 up hotter than the seven low places in hell. 
 
 "If we go to the mine now or soon 
 we ll never get back. After we show them the 
 place adios el mundo!" 
 
 " Surely. in vain the net is spread in the 
 sight of any bird/ " Mitchell quoted soberly. 
 "So you think that after a while, when their 
 enthusiasm dies down, we can give them the 
 slip?" 
 
 "Sure! It s our only chance. " 
 
 "Could n t we make a get-away at night?" 
 
 "It is what they are hoping for. They d 
 follow our tracks. No, sir! We do nothing. 
 We notice nothing, we suspect nothing, and 
 we have nothing to hide." 
 
 "You want to remember that our location 
 notice will be running out pretty soon." 
 
 "We ll have to risk it. Not so much of a 
 risk, either. Cobre is the last outpost of civ 
 ilization. South of here, in the whole strip 
 from Comobabi to the Colorado River, there s 
 not twenty men, all told, between here and 
 
74 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 the Mexican border except yonder deluded 
 wretches in the Gavilan; and none beyond the 
 border for a hundred miles." 
 
 "It is certainly one big lonesome needle-in- 
 the-haystack proposition and no one has 
 any idea where our find is, not within three 
 days ride. But what puzzles me is this: If 
 Zurich really got wise to our copper, he d 
 know at once that it was a big thing, if there 
 was any amount of it. Then why did n t he 
 keep it private and confidential? Why tip it 
 off to the G. P.? I have always understood 
 that in robbery and murder, one is assisted 
 only by intimate friends. What is the large 
 idea?" 
 
 "That, I take it," laughed Pete, "is, in 
 some part, an acknowledgment that it does n t 
 take many like you and me to make a dozen. 
 You ve made one or two breaks and got away 
 with em, the last year or two, that has got em 
 guessing ; and I m well and loudly known my 
 self. There is a wise old saying that it s no use 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 75 
 
 sending a boy to mill. They figure on that, 
 likely; they wanted to be safe and sanitary. 
 They sized it up that to dispatch only two or 
 three men to adjust such an affair with us 
 would be in no way respectful or segacious. 
 
 "Also, in a gang of crooks like that, every 
 one is always pullin for his buddy. That ac 
 counts for part of the crowd prudence and a 
 far-reaching spirit of brotherly love. For the 
 rest, when the first ten or six made packs and 
 started, they was worked up and oozing ex 
 citement at every pore. Then some of the old 
 prospectors got a hunch there was something 
 doing; so they just naturally up stakes and 
 tagged along. Always doing that, old miner is. 
 That s what makes the rushes and stampedes 
 you hear about." 
 
 "Then we re to do nothing just now but to 
 shun mind-readers, write no letters, and not 
 talk in our sleep?" 
 
 "Just so," agreed Pete. " If my saddle could 
 talk, I d burn it. That s our best lay. We ll 
 
76 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 tire em out. The most weariest thing in the 
 world is to hunt for a man that is n t there; 
 the next worst is to watch a man that has 
 nothing to conceal. And our little old million- 
 dollar-a-rod hill is the unlikeliest place to look 
 for a mine I ever did see. Just plain dirt and 
 sand. No indications; just a plain freak. I d 
 sooner take a chance in the pasture lot behind 
 pa s red barn any one would. We covered 
 up all the scratchin we did and the wind has 
 done the rest. Here you was to do the 
 talkin . Goon." 
 
 "What we really need," declared Mitchell, 
 "is an army enough absolutely trustworthy 
 and reliable men to overmatch any interfer 
 
 ence." 
 
 "The largest number of honest men that was 
 ever got together in one bunch," said Pete, 
 "was just an even eleven. Judas Iscariot was 
 the twelfth. That s the record. For that rea 
 son I ve always stuck it out that we ought 
 to have only ten men on a jury, instead of 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 77 
 
 twelve. It seems more modest, somehow. But 
 suppose we found ten honest men somewheres. 
 It might be done. I know where there s two 
 right here in Arizona, and I ve got my suspi 
 cions of a third honest about portable prop 
 erty, that is. With cattle, and the like, they 
 don t have any hard-and-fast rule; just con 
 sider each case on its individual merits. How 
 the case of automobiles would strike them 
 elder ethics is one dubious problem. Standing 
 still, or bein towed, so it might be considered 
 as a wagon, a car would be safe enough; but 
 proceedin from hither to yon under its own 
 power I dunno. I 11 make a note of it. Well, 
 you get the right idea for the first thing. Hon 
 est men wanted; no questions asked. And then 
 what?" 
 
 "Money." 
 
 "You ve said it, kid! We could quitclaim 
 that hill for a million cash to-morrow " 
 
 "If we had any claim to quit," interrupted 
 Stanley; "and if we could drag capital out here 
 and rub its nose in our hill." 
 
78 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "That s the word I was feelin for cap 
 ital. It s capital we want, Stanley not 
 money. I could get a little money myself down 
 at Tucson. Them two honest men of mine live 
 there. We used to steal cattle together down 
 on the Concho the sheriff and Jose Bena- 
 vides and me. I aim to feed em a slice of my 
 share, anyway but what they could put in 
 would n t be a drop in the bucket. We want to 
 go after capital. There s where you come in. 
 Got any rich friends back East?" 
 
 Stan reflected. 
 
 "My cousin, Oscar Mitchell, is well-to-do, 
 but hardly what you would call rich, in this 
 connection," he said. "But he is in touch 
 with some of the really big men. We could 
 hardly find a better agent to interest capital." 
 
 "Will he take the first steps on your bare 
 word without even a sample or an assayer s 
 report?" 
 
 "Certainly. Why not?" 
 
 "Back you go, then. Here s where you 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 79 
 
 come in. I had this in mind," declared John 
 son, "when I first throwed in with you. I 
 knew we could find the mine and you d be 
 needed for bait to attract capital. I rustled a 
 little expense money at Tucson. Say, I did n t 
 tell you about that. Listen!" 
 
 He recited at length his joyous financial ad 
 ventures in Tucson. 
 
 "But won t your man Marsh tell Zurich 
 about your unruly behavior?" said Stan at the 
 finish. 
 
 " I think not. He s got too much to lose. I 
 put the fear of God in his heart for fair. I 
 could n t afford to have him put Zurich on his 
 guard. It won t do to underestimate Zurich. 
 The man s a crook; but he s got brains. He 
 has n t overlooked a bet since he came here. 
 Zurich is Cobre or mighty near it. He s in 
 on all the good things. Big share in the big 
 mines, little share in the little ones. He s got 
 all the water supply grabbed and is makin a 
 fortune from that alone. He runs the store, 
 
8o COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 the post-office, and the stage line. He s got the 
 freight contracts and the beef contracts. He s 
 got brains. Only one weak point about him 
 he ll underestimate us. We got brains too. 
 Zurich knows that, but he don t quite believe 
 it. That s our chance." 
 
 "Just what will you ask my cousin to do? 
 And when shall I go?" 
 
 "Day before to-morrow. You hike back to 
 Cobre and hit the road for all points East. 
 I 11 go over to the Gavilan to be counted 
 take this dynamite and stuff, and make a bluff 
 at workin , keeping my ears open and my 
 mouth not. Pledge cousin to come see when 
 we wire for him as soon as we get possession. 
 If he finds the sight satisfactory, we ll organize 
 a company, you and me keepin control. We ll 
 give em forty per cent for a million cash in the 
 treasury. I want nine per cent for my Tucson 
 friends, who ll put up a little preliminary cash 
 and help us with the first fightin , if any. 
 Make your dicker on that basis; take no less. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 8 1 
 
 If your cousin can t swing it, we ll go else 
 where. 
 
 "Tell him our proposition would be a gra 
 cious gift at two millions, undeveloped; but 
 we re not selling. Tell him there 11 be a million 
 needed for development before there ll be a 
 dollar of return. There s no water; just enough 
 to do assessment work on, and that to be 
 hauled twenty-five miles from those little rock 
 tanks at Cabeza Prieta. Deep drillin may get 
 water I hope so. But that will take time 
 and money. There 11 have to be a seventy-five- 
 mile spur of railroad built, anyway, leaving 
 the main line somewhere about Mohawk: we d 
 just as well count on hauling water from the 
 Gila the first year. Them tanks will about 
 run a ten-man gang a month after each rain, 
 countin in the team that does the hauling. 
 
 "Tell him one claim, six hundred feet by 
 fifteen hundred, will pretty near cover our hill; 
 but we 11 stake two for margin. We don t want 
 any more; but we ll have to locate a town site 
 
82 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 or something, to be sure of our right of way for 
 our railroad. Every foot of these hills will be 
 staked out by some one, eventually. If any 
 of these outside claims turns out to be any 
 good, so much the better. But there can t be 
 the usual rush very well cause there ain t 
 enough water. We ll have to locate the tanks 
 and keep a guard there; we ll have to pull off a 
 franchise for our little jerkwater railroad. 
 
 "We got to build a wagon road to Mohawk, 
 set six-horse teams to hauling water, and other 
 teams to hauling water to stations along the 
 road for the teams that haul water for us. All 
 this at once; it s going to be some complicated. 
 
 "That s the lay: Development work; appro 
 priation for honest men in the first camp; an 
 other for lawyers; patentin three claims; haul 
 water seventy-five miles, no road, and part of 
 that through sand; minin machinery; build a 
 railroad ; smelter, maybe if some one would 
 kindly find coal. 
 
 "We want a minimum of five hundred thou- 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 83 
 
 sand; as much more for accidents. Where does 
 this cousin of yours live? In Abingdon?" 
 
 "In Vesper seven miles from Abingdon. 
 He s a lawyer. * 
 
 "Is he all right?" 
 
 "Why, yes I guess so. When I was a boy 
 I thought he was a wonderful chap rather 
 made a hero of him." 
 
 "When you was a boy?" echoed Johnson; 
 a quizzical twinkle assisted the query. 
 
 "Oh, well when he was a boy." 
 
 "He s older than you, then?" 
 
 "Nearly twice as old. My father was the 
 youngest son of an old-fashioned family, and 
 I was his youngest. Uncle Roy Oscar s fa 
 ther was dad s oldest brother, and Oscar 
 was a first and only." 
 
 Pete shook his head. 
 
 "I m sorry about that, too. I d be better 
 pleased if he was round your age. No offense 
 to you, Stan; but I d name no places to your 
 cousin if I were you. When we get legal pos- 
 
84 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 session let him come out and see for himself 
 leadin a capitalist, if possible." 
 
 "Oscar s all right, I guess," protested Stan. 
 
 "But you can t do more than guess? Name 
 him no names, then. I wish he was younger," 
 said Peter with a melancholy expression. " The 
 world has a foolish old saying: The good die 
 young/ That s all wrong, Stanley. It isn t 
 true. The young die good!" 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 QOMETHING DEWING, owner of Cobre s 
 kJ Emporium of Chance, sat in his room in 
 the Admiral Dewey Hotel. It was a large and 
 pleasant room, refitted and over-furnished by 
 Mr. Dewing at the expense of his fellow towns 
 men, grateful or otherwise. It is well to men 
 tion here that, upon the tongues of the scurrile, 
 Something," as a praise-name and over-name 
 for Mr. Dewing, suffered a sea change to "Sure- 
 thing" Surething Dewing; just as the Ad 
 miral Dewey Hotel was less favorably known 
 as "Stagger Inn." 
 
 Mr. Dewing s eye rested dreamily upon the 
 picture, much praised of connoisseurs, framed 
 by his window the sharp encircling con 
 tours of Cobre Mountain; the wedge of tawny 
 desert beyond Farewell Gap. Rousing him 
 self from such contemplation, he broke a si 
 lence, sour and unduly prolonged. 
 
86 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "Four o clock, and all s ill! Johnson is not 
 the man to be cheated out of a fortune without 
 putting up a fight. Young Mitchell himself is 
 neither fool nor weakling. He can shoot, too. 
 We have had no news. Therefore a conclu 
 sion that will not have escaped your sagacity 
 something has gone amiss with our little expe 
 ditionary force in the Gavilan. Johnson is 
 quite the Paladin; but he could hardly exter 
 minate such a bunch as that. It is my firm 
 conviction that we are now, on this pleasant 
 afternoon, double-crossed in a good and work 
 manlike manner. 
 
 "The Johnson-Mitchell firm is now Johnson, 
 Mitchell & Company, our late friends, or the 
 survivors, being the Company." 
 
 These remarks were addressed to the elder 
 of Mr. Dewing s two table mates. But it was 
 Eric Anderson, tall and lean and lowering, who 
 made answer. 
 
 u You may set your uneasy mind at rest, 
 Mr. Something. Suspectin treachery comes 
 natural to you being what you are." 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 87 
 
 " There that s enough !" 
 
 This was the third man, Mayer Zurich. He 
 sprang up, speaking sharply; a tall, straight 
 man, broad-shouldered, well proportioned, 
 with a handsome, sparkling, high-colored face. 
 "Eric, you grow more insolent every day. 
 Cut it out!" 
 
 Mr. Dewing, evenly enough, shifted his 
 thoughtful gaze upon tall Eric, seemingly with 
 out resentment for the outburst. 
 
 "Well, was n t he insultin the boys then?" 
 demanded Eric. 
 
 "I guess you re right, there," Mayer Zurich 
 admitted. " I was not at all in favor of taking so 
 many of them in on this proposition; but I m 
 not afraid of them doin me dirt, now they re 
 in. I don t see why the three of us could n t 
 have kept this to ourselves but Something 
 had to blab it out ! Why he should do that, and 
 then distrust the very men he chose for so 
 munificent a sharing of a confidence better 
 withheld that is quite beyond my under- 
 
88 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 standing. Dewing, you would never have 
 clapped an eye on that nugget if I had sus 
 pected in you so unswerving a loyalty to the 
 gang. I confess I was disappointed in you 
 and I count you my right-hand man/ 1 
 
 The speech of the educated man, in Mr. 
 Zurich, was overlaid with colloquialism and 
 strange idiom, made a second tongue by long 
 familiarity. 
 
 "Your left-hand man!" Dewing made the 
 correction with great composure. "You come 
 to me to help you, because, though you claim 
 all the discredit for your left-handed activi 
 ties, I furnish a good half of the brains. And I 
 blabbed as you so elegantly phrased it 
 because I am far too intelligent to bite a bull 
 dog for a bone. Our friends in the Gavilan 
 pride themselves on their nerve. They are 
 fighting men, if you please very fearless and 
 gallant. That suits me. I am no gentleman. 
 Quite the contrary. I am very intelligent, as 
 aforesaid. It was the part of prudence " 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 89 
 
 "That is a very good word prudence." 
 The interpolation came from tall Eric. 
 
 "A very good word," assented the gambler, 
 unmoved. "It was the part of prudence to let 
 our valiant friends and servants pull these 
 chestnuts from the fire, as aforetime. To be 
 come the corpse of a copper king is a prospect 
 that holds no attractions for me/ 1 
 
 "But why why on earth did you 
 insist on employing men you now distrust? 
 you bewilder me, Dewing," declared Zurich. 
 "What s the idea to swindle yourself?" 
 
 "You will do me the justice to remember," 
 observed Dewing with a thin-lipped smile, 
 "that I urged upon you, repeatedly and most 
 strongly, as a desirable preliminary to our oper 
 ations, to remove Mr. Peter Johnson from this 
 unsatisfactory world without any formal dec 
 laration of war." 
 
 "I won t do it!" declared Zurich bluntly. 
 "And damn you you shan t do it! He s 
 a dangerous old bowlegged person, and I wish 
 
90 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 he was farther. And I must admit that I am 
 myself most undesirous for any personal bicker 
 ing with him. To hear Jim Scarboro relate it, 
 old Pete is one wiz with a six-gun. All the 
 same, I ll not let him be shot from ambush. 
 He s too good for that. I draw the line there. 
 I m not exactly afraid of the little old wasp, 
 either, when it comes down to cases; but I have 
 great respect for him. I 11 never agree to meet 
 him on a tight rope over Niagara and make 
 him turn back; and if I have any trouble with 
 him he s got to bring it to me. You have no 
 monopoly of prudence." 
 
 "There it is, you see!" Something Dewing 
 spread out his fine hands. " You made no al 
 lowance for my loyalty and I made none for 
 your scruples. As a result, Mr. Johnson has 
 established a stalemate, held a parley, and 
 bought off our warriors. They Ve been taken 
 in on the copper find, on some small sharing, 
 while we, in quite another sense of the word, 
 are simply taken in. Such," observed Mr. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 91 
 
 Dewing philosophically, "is the result of in 
 opportune virtues." 
 
 "Bosh! I told you all along," said Anderson 
 heavily, "that there s no mineral in the Gavi- 
 lan. I ve been over every foot of it and I m 
 a miner. We get no news because no man 
 makes haste to announce his folly. You 11 see ! " 
 
 "Creede and Cripple Creek had been pros 
 pected over and over again before they struck 
 it there," objected Zurich. 
 
 "Silver and gold!" retorted Eric scornfully. 
 11 This is copper. Copper advertises. No, sir! 
 I 11 tell you what s happened. There s been no 
 battle, and no treachery, and no mine found. 
 We ve been trapped. That Gavilan location 
 was a fake, stuck up to draw our fire. We ve 
 tipped our hand. Mr. Johnson can now exam 
 ine the plans of mice or men that your com 
 bined sagacities have so obligingly placed face 
 upward before him, and decide his policies at 
 his leisure. If I were in his shoes, this is what I 
 would be at : I d tell my wondrous tale to big 
 
92 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 money. And then I would employ very many 
 stranger men accustomed to arms; and when 
 I went after that mine, I would place under 
 guard any reasonable and obliging travelers I 
 met, and establish a graveyard for the head 
 strong. And that s what Johnson will do. 
 He ll go to the Coast for capital, at the same 
 time sendin young Stanley back to his native 
 East on the same errand." 
 
 " You may be right," said Zurich, somewhat 
 staggered. " If you are, their find must be a 
 second Verde or Cananea, or they would never 
 have taken a precaution so extraordinary as a 
 false location. What on earth can have hap 
 pened to rouse their suspicions to that extent? " 
 
 "Man, I wonder at you!" said tall Eric. 
 "You put trust in your brains, your money, and 
 your standing to hold you unstained by all 
 your left-handed business. You expect no man 
 to take heed of you, when the reek of it smells 
 to high heaven. Well, you deceive yourself 
 the more. These things get about; and they 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 93 
 
 are none so unobserving a people, south of 
 the Gila, where t is fair life or death to them 
 to note betweenwhiles all manner of small 
 things the set of a pack, the tongue of a 
 buckle, the cleat of a mine ladder. And your 
 persecution of young Stanley, now. Was you 
 expectin that to go unremarked? T is that 
 has made Peter Johnson shy of all bait. T was 
 a sorry business from the first hazing that 
 boy; I take shame to have hand in it. And for 
 every thousand of that dirty money we now 
 stand to lose a million. " 
 
 " T was a piker s game," sneered Dewing. 
 "Not worth the trouble and risk. We had 
 about three thousand from Zurich to split be 
 tween us; little enough. Of course Zurich kept 
 his share, the lion s share." 
 
 "You got the middleman s chunk, at any 
 rate," retorted Zurich. 
 
 "I did the middleman s work," said the 
 gambler tranquilly. "Now, gentlemen, we 
 have not been agreeing very well of late. Eric, 
 
94 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 in particular, has been far from flattering in 
 his estimates of my social and civic value. We 
 are agreed on that? Very well. I may have 
 mentioned my intelligence? And that I rate it 
 highly? Yes? Very well, then. I shall now 
 demonstrate that my self -appraisal was justi 
 fied by admitting that my judgment on this 
 occasion was at fault. Eric s theories as to our 
 delayed news from our expedition are sound; 
 they work out; they prove themselves. The 
 same is true of his very direct and lucid state 
 ment as to the nature and cause of the diffi 
 culties which now beset us. I now make the 
 direct appeal to you, Eric: As a candid man or 
 mouse, what would you do next?" 
 
 Tall Eric bent his brows darkly at the gam 
 bler. 
 
 "If you mean that I fear the man Johnson 
 at all, why do you not use tongue and lips to 
 say that same? I am not greatly chafed by an 
 open enemy, but I am no great hand to sit 
 down under a mock." 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 95 
 
 "It was your own word the mice," said 
 Dewing. " But this time you take me wrongly. 
 I meant no mockery. I ask you, in good faith, 
 for your opinion. What ought to be done to 
 retrieve the false step?" 
 
 11 Could we find this treasure-trove by a 
 painstaking search of the hills?" asked Zurich 
 doubtfully. "It s a biggish country." 
 
 "Man," said Eric, "I ve prospected out 
 there for fifteen years and I Ve scarce made a 
 beginning. If we re to find Johnson s strike 
 before Johnson makes a path to it, we have a 
 month, at most. Find it, says you? Sure, we 
 might find it. But if we do it will be by blind 
 fool-hog luck and not by painstakin search. 
 Do you search, if you like. My word would be 
 to try negotiations. Make a compromise with 
 Johnson. And if your prudence does not like 
 the errand, I will even take it upon myself." 
 
 "What is there to compromise? We have 
 nothing to contribute." 
 
 "We have safety to sell," said Eric. "Seek 
 
96 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 out the man and state the case baldly: Sir, we 
 have protection to sell, without which your 
 knowledge is worthless, or near it. Protection 
 from ourselves and all others. Make treaty 
 with us; allot to us, jointly, some share, which 
 you shall name yourself, and we will deal 
 justly by you. So shall you avoid delay. You 
 may avoid some risk. Quien sabe? If you re 
 fuse we shall truly endeavor to be interestin ; 
 and you may get nothing. That s what I 
 would say. 19 
 
 " A share, to be named by Johnson and then 
 be divided between ten? Well, I guess not!" 
 declared Zurich. "To begin with, we ll find a 
 way to stop Kid Mitchell from any Eastern 
 trip. Capital is shy; I m not much afraid of 
 what Johnson can do. But this boy has the 
 inside track." 
 
 "With my usual astuteness," remarked 
 Something Dewing, "I had divined as much. 
 And there is another string to our bow if we 
 make a complete failure of this mine business 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 97 
 
 as would seem to be promised by the 
 Gavilan fiasco. When such goodly sums are 
 expended to procure the downfall of Kid 
 Mitchell an event as yet unexpectedly de 
 layed there s money in it somewhere. Big 
 money ! I know it. And I mean to touch some 
 of it. My unknown benefactor shall have my 
 every assistance to attain his hellish purpose 
 hellish purpose, I believe, is the phrase proper 
 to the complexion of this affair. Then, to use 
 the words of the impulsive Hotspur, slightly 
 altered to suit the occasion, I ll creep upon 
 him while he lies asleep, and in his ear I ll 
 whisper Snooks ! " 
 
 "You don t know where he lives/ 1 said 
 Zurich. 
 
 "Ah, but you do! I beg your pardon, Zu 
 rich perhaps in my thoughtlessness I have 
 wounded you. I used the wrong pronoun. I 
 did not mean to say I much less you 
 in reference to who should hollo Halves! to 
 our sleeping benefactor. We was the word I 
 should have used." 
 
98 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 Zurich regarded Mr. Dewing in darkling 
 silence; and that gentleman, in noway daunted, 
 continued gayly: 
 
 "I see that the same idea has shadowed it 
 self to you. You must consider us Eric and 
 I equals in that enterprise, friend Mayer. 
 Three good friends together. I begin to fear 
 we have sadly underestimated Eric you and 
 I. By our own admission and his he is 
 a better fighting man than either of us. You 
 would n t want to displease him." 
 
 "I think you go about it in an ill way to 
 remedy a mistake, Dewing," said Zurich. 
 "Don t let s be silly enough to fall out over 
 one chance gone wrong. We ve got all we can 
 attend to right now, without such a folly as 
 that. Don t mind him, Eric. Tell me, rather, 
 what we are going to do about this troublesome 
 Johnson? Violence is out of the question: we 
 need him to show us where he found that 
 copper. Besides, it isn t safe to kill old Pete, 
 and it never has been safe to kill old Pete. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 99 
 
 As for the Kid, I ll do what I have been 
 urged to do this long time by the personage 
 who takes so kindly an interest in his fortunes 
 I ll railroad him off to jail, at least till we 
 get that mine or until it is, beyond question, 
 lost to us. It is n t wise to let him go East; he 
 might get hold of unlimited money. If he did, 
 forewarned as he is now, Johnson would fix it 
 so we should n t have a look-in. You turn this 
 over and let me know your ideas." 
 
 "And that reminds me," said Dewing with 
 smooth insolence, equally maddening { to both 
 hearers, "that Eric s ideas have been notably 
 justified of late; whereas your ideas and 
 mine have been stupid blunders from first 
 to last. You see me at a stand, friend Mayer, 
 doubtful if it were not the part of wisdom to 
 transfer my obedience to Eric hereafter." 
 
 11 For every word of that, Johnson would pay 
 you a gold piece, and have a rare bargain of it." 
 Zurich s voice was hard; his eye was hard. " Is 
 this a time for quarreling among ourselves? 
 
ioo COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 There may be millions at stake, for all we know, 
 and you would set us at loggerheads in a fit of 
 spleen, like a little peevish boy. I m ashamed of 
 you! Get your horse and ride off the sulks. If 
 you feel spiteful, take it out on Johnson. Get 
 yourself a pack outfit and go find his mine. 11 
 
 "I m no prospector," said the gambler dis 
 dainfully. 
 
 "No. I will tell you what you are." Tall 
 Eric rose and towered above Dewing at the 
 window; the sun streamed on his bright hair, 
 "You are a crack-brained fool to tempt my 
 hands to your throat! You will do it once too 
 often yet. You a prospector? You never saw 
 the day you had the makin s of a prospector in 
 you." 
 
 "Let other men do the work and take the 
 risk while I take the gain, and it s little I care 
 for your opinion," rejoined Dewing. "And 
 you would do well to keep your hands from my 
 throat when my hand is in my coat pocket 
 as is the case at this present instant." 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 101 
 
 "This thing has gone far enough," said 
 Zurich. " Anderson, come back and sit down. 
 Dewing, go and fork that horse of yours and 
 ride the black devil out of your heart." 
 
 "I have a thing to say, first/ said Eric. 
 " Dewing, you sought to begowk me by setting 
 me up against Zurich or perhaps you really 
 thought to use me against him. Well, you 
 won t! When we want the information about 
 the man that has been harryin young Mitchell, 
 Zurich will tell us. We know too much about 
 Zurich for him to deny us our askings. But, 
 for your mock at me, I want you both to know 
 two things: The first is, I desire no headship for 
 myself; the second is this I take Zurich s or 
 ders because I think he has the best head, as 
 a usual thing; and I follow those orders ex 
 actly so far as I please, and no step more. I 
 am mean and worthless because I choose to be 
 and not at all because Mayer Zurich led me 
 astray. Got that, now?" 
 
 "If you re quite through," said Dewing, 
 "I ll take that ride." 
 
102 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 The door closed behind him. 
 
 "Disappointed! Had his mouth fixed for a 
 million or so, and did n t get it; could n t stand 
 the gaff; made him ugly," said Zurich slowly. 
 "And when Dewing is ugly he is unbearable; 
 absolutely the limit." 
 
 " Is n t he? " agreed Eric in disgust. " Enough 
 to make a man turn honest. " 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 STANLEY MITCHELL topped the last 
 rise in Morning Gate Pass in the late after 
 noon. Cobre Basin spread deep and wide be 
 fore him, ruddy in the low sun; Cobre town 
 and mines, on his left, loomed dim and mis 
 shapen in the long dark shadows of the hills. 
 
 Awguan, top horse and foreman of Stanley s 
 mount, swung pitapat down the winding pass 
 at a brisk fox trot. The gallop, as a road gait, 
 is frowned upon in the cow countries as imma 
 ture and wasteful of equine energy. 
 
 He passed Loder s Folly, high above the 
 trail gray, windowless, and forlorn; the trail 
 dipped into the cool shadows, twisted through 
 the mazy deeps of Wait-a-Bit Canon, clam 
 bered zigzag back to the sunlit slope, and 
 curved round the hillsides to join, in long levels, 
 the wood roads on the northern slopes. 
 
 As he turned into the level, Stanley s mus- 
 
104 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 ings were broken in upon by a sudden prodi 
 gious clatter. Looking up, he became aware 
 of a terror, rolling portentous down the flinty 
 ridge upon him; a whirlwind streak of billowed 
 dust, shod with sparks, tipped by a hurtling 
 color yet unknown to man, and from the 
 whirlwind issued grievous words. 
 
 Awguan leaped forward. 
 
 Bounding over boulders or from them, flash 
 ing through catclaw and ocatillo, the appear 
 ance swooped and fell, the blend disjoined and 
 shaped to semblance of a very small red pony 
 bearing a very small blue boy. The pony s 
 small red head was quite innocent of bridle; 
 the bit was against his red breast, held there 
 by small hands desperate on the reins; the torn 
 headstall flapped rakishly about the red legs. 
 Making the curve at sickening speed, balanced 
 over everlasting nothingness for a moment of 
 breathless equipoise, they took the trail. 
 
 Awguan thundered after. Stanley bent over, 
 pelted by flying pebbles and fragments of idle 
 words. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 105 
 
 Small chance to overhaul the prodigy on 
 that ribbed and splintered hill; Awguan held 
 the sidelong trail at the red pony s heels. They 
 dipped to cross an arroyo; Stan lifted his head 
 and shouted: 
 
 " Fall off in the sand!" 
 
 "Damnfido!" wailed the blue boy. 
 
 Sand flashed in rainbow arches against 
 Awguan s brown face he shut his eyes 
 against it; they turned up the hill beyond. 
 A little space ahead showed free of bush or 
 boulder. Awguan took the hillside below the 
 trail, lowered his head, laid his ears back, and 
 bunched his mighty muscles. He drew along 
 side; leaning far over, heel to cantle, Stan threw 
 his arm about the small red neck, and dragged 
 the red pony to a choking stand. The small 
 blue boy slipped to earth, twisted the soft 
 bridle rein once and again to a miraculous 
 double half-hitch about the red pony s jaw, 
 and tightened it with a jerk. 
 
 " I Ve got him!" shrieked the blue boy. 
 
106 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 The red pony turned mild bright eyes upon 
 brown Awguan, and twitched red velvet ears to 
 express surprise, and wrinkled a polite nose. 
 
 Hello! I had n t noticed you before. Fine 
 day, is n t it?" said the ears. 
 
 Awguan rolled his wicked eye and snorted. 
 The blue boy shrilled a comment of surprising 
 particulars a hatless boy in denim. Stanley 
 turned his head at a clatter of hoofs; Some 
 thing Dewing, on the trail from town, galloped 
 to join them. 
 
 "That was a creditable arrest you made, 
 Mitchell," he said, drawing rein. "I saw it 
 all from the top of Mule Hill. And I certainly 
 thought our Little Boy Blue was going to take 
 the Big Trip. He 11 make a hand! " 
 
 The gambler s eyes, unguarded and sincere 
 for once, flashed quizzical admiration at Little 
 Boy Blue, who, concurrently with the above 
 speech, quavered forth his lurid personal opin 
 ions of the red pony. He was a lean, large- 
 eyed person, apparently of some nine or ten 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 107 
 
 years - which left his vocabulary unac 
 counted for; his face was smeared and bleed 
 ing, scratched by catclaw; his apparel much 
 betattered by the same reason. 
 
 He now checked a flood of biographical de 
 tail concerning the red pony long enough to 
 fling a remark their way: 
 
 "Ain t no Boy Blue damn your soul! 
 Name s Robteeleecarr ! 
 
 Dewing and Mitchell exchanged glances. 
 
 "What s that? What did he say?" 
 
 "He means to inform you," said Dewing, 
 "that his name is Robert E. Lee Carr." His 
 glance swept appraisingly up the farther hill, 
 and he chuckled: "Old Israel Putnam would 
 be green with envy if he had seen that ride. 
 Some boy!" 
 
 "He must be a new one to Cobre; I Ve never 
 seen him before." 
 
 "Been here a week or ten days, and he s a 
 notorious character already. So is Nan-na." 
 
 "Nan-na, I gather, being the pony?" 
 
io8 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 41 Exactly. Little Apache devil, that horse 
 is. Robert s dad, one Jackson Carr, is going to 
 try freighting. He s camped over the ridge at 
 Hospital Springs, letting his horses feed up and 
 get some meat on their bones. Here! Robert 
 E. Lee, drop that club or I 11 put the dingbats 
 on you instanter! Don t you pound that pony! 
 I saw you yesterday racing the streets with the 
 throat-latch of your bridle unbuckled. Serves 
 you right!" 
 
 Robert E. Lee reluctantly abandoned the 
 sotol stalk he had been breaking to a length 
 suitable for admonitory purposes. 
 
 "All right! But I ll fix him yet see if I 
 don t! He s got to pack me back up that hill 
 after my hat. Gimme a knife, so s I can cut 
 a saddle string and mend this bridle." These 
 remarks are expurgated. 
 
 He mended the bridle; he loosened the 
 cinches and set the saddle back. Stan, dis 
 mounting, made a discovery. 
 
 " I ve lost a spur. Thought something felt 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 109 
 
 funny. Noticed yesterday that the strap was 
 loose." He straightened up from a contempla 
 tion of his boot heel; with a sudden thought, 
 he searched the inner pocket of his coat. 
 "And that is n t all. By George, I ve lost my 
 pocketbook, and a lot of money in it! But it 
 can t be far; I ve lost it somewhere on my boy 
 chase. Come on, Dewing; help me hunt for it." 
 
 They left the boy at his mending and took 
 the back track. Before they had gone a dozen 
 yards Dewing saw the lost spur, far down the 
 hill, lodged under a prickly pear. Stanley, 
 searching intently for his pocketbook, did not 
 see the spur. And Dewing said nothing; he 
 lowered his eyelids to veil a sudden evil 
 thought, and when he raised them again his 
 eyes, which for a little had been clear of all 
 save boyish mischief, were once more tense and 
 hard. 
 
 Robert E. Lee Carr clattered gayly by them 
 and pushed up the hill to recover his hat. The 
 two men rode on slowly; a brown pocketbook 
 
I io COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 upon a brown hillside is not easy to find. But 
 they found it at last, just where Stanley had 
 launched his pursuit of the hatless horseman. 
 It had been jostled from his pocket in the first 
 wild rush. Stanley retrieved it with a sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 "Are you sure you had your spur here?" 
 asked Dewing. "Maybe you lost it before and 
 did n t notice it." 
 
 "Oh, never mind the spur," said Stan. " I m 
 satisfied to get my money. Let s wait for 
 Little Boy Blue and we ll all go in together." 
 
 "Want to try a little game to-night?" sug 
 gested Dewing. "I could use that money of 
 yours. It seems a likely bunch if it s all 
 money. Pretty plump wallet, I call it." 
 
 "No more for me," laughed Stanley. "You 
 behold in me a reformed character." 
 
 "Stick to that, boy," said Dewing. "Gam 
 bling is bad business." 
 
 It grew on to dusk when Robert E. Lee Carr 
 rejoined them; it was pitch dark when they 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL in 
 
 came to the Carr camp-fire at Hospital Springs, 
 close beside the trail ; when they reached Cobre, 
 supper-time was over. 
 
 At the Mountain House Stanley ordered a 
 special supper cooked for him, with real po 
 tatoes and cow milk. Dewing refused a drink, 
 pleading his profession; and Stanley left his fat 
 wallet in the Mountain House safe. 
 
 "Well, I ll say good-night now," said Dew 
 ing. "See you after supper? " 
 
 "Oh, I ll side you a ways yet. Coin up to 
 the shack to unsaddle. Always like to have my 
 horse eat before I do. And you 11 not see me 
 after supper not unless you are up at the 
 post-office. I m done with cards." 
 
 "I d like to have a little chin with you to 
 morrow," said Dewing. "Not about cards. 
 Business. I m sick of cards, myself. I 11 never 
 be able to live em down especially with 
 this pleasing nickname of mine. I want to 
 talk trade. About your ranch : you Ve still got 
 your wells and water- holes? I was thinking of 
 
112 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 buying them of you and going in for the straight 
 and narrow. I might even stock up and throw 
 in with you but you would n t want a part 
 ner from the wrong side of the table? Well, I 
 don t blame you but say, Stan, on the level, 
 it s a funny old world, is n t it?" 
 
 "I m going to take the stage to-morrow. 
 See you when I come back. I 11 sell. I m re 
 formed about cattle, too," said Stan. 
 
 At the ball ground he bade Dewing good 
 night. The latter rode on to his own hostelry 
 at the other end of town. Civilization patron 
 ized the Admiral Dewey as nearest the rail 
 road; mountain men favored the Mountain 
 House as being nearest to grass. 
 
 Stanley turned up a side street to the one- 
 roomed adobe house on the edge of town that 
 served as city headquarters for himself and 
 Johnson. He unsaddled in the little corral; 
 he brought a feed of corn for brown Awguan ; 
 he brought currycomb and brush and made 
 glossy Awguan s sleek sides, turning him loose 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 113 
 
 at last, with a friendly slap, to seek pasture on 
 Cobre Hills. Then he returned to the Moun 
 tain House for the delayed supper. 
 
 Meantime Mr. Something Dewing held a 
 hurried consultation with Mr. Mayer Zurich; 
 and forthwith took horse again for Morning 
 Gate Pass, slipping by dark streets from the 
 town, turning aside to pass Hospital Springs. 
 Where the arrest of the red pony had been 
 effected, Dewing dismounted; below the trail, 
 a dozen yards away, he fished Mr. Stanley 
 Mitchell s spur from under a prickly pear; and 
 returned in haste to Cobre. 
 
 After his supper Stanley strolled into Zu 
 rich s The New York Store. 
 
 Unknown to him, at that hour brown Aw- 
 guan was being driven back to his little home 
 corral, resaddled with Stanley s saddle 
 and led away into the dark. 
 
 Stanley exchanged greetings with the half- 
 
114 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 dozen customers who lingered at the counters, 
 and demanded his mail. Zurich handed out 
 two fat letters with the postmark of Abingdon, 
 New York. While Stanley read them, Zurich 
 called across the store to a purchaser of cigars 
 and tobacco: 
 
 11 Hello, Wiley! Thought you had gone to 
 Silverbell so wild and fierce/ 
 
 "Am a-going now," said Wiley, "soon as I 
 throw a couple or three drinks under my belt. 1 
 
 "Say, Bat, do you think you ll make the 
 morning train? It s going on nine now." 
 
 "Surest thing you know! That span of 
 mine can stroll along mighty peart. Once I get 
 out on the flat, we ll burn the breeze." 
 
 "Come over here, then," said Zurich. "I 
 want you to take some cash and send it down 
 to the bank by express about eight hun 
 dred; and some checks besides. I can t wait 
 for the stage it won t get there till to 
 morrow night. I Ve overdrawn my account, 
 with my usual carelessness, and I want this 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 115 
 
 money to get to the bank before the checks 
 do/ 
 
 Stanley went back to his little one-roomed 
 house. He shaved, bathed, laid out his Sun 
 day best, re-read his precious letters, and 
 dropped off to dreamless sleep. 
 
 Between midnight and one o clock Bat 
 Wiley, wild-eyed and raging, burst into the 
 barroom of the Admiral Dewey and startled 
 with a tale of wrongs such part of wakeful 
 Cobre as there made wassail. At the crossing 
 of Largo Draw he had been held up at a gun s 
 point by a single robber on horseback; Zu 
 rich s money had been taken from him, to 
 gether with some seventy dollars of his own; 
 his team had been turned loose; it had taken 
 him nearly an hour to catch them again, so de 
 laying the alarm by that much. 
 
 Boots and spurs; saddling of horses; Bob 
 Holland, the deputy sheriff, was called from 
 his bed; a swift posse galloped into the night, 
 
Ii6 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 joined at the last moment by Mr. Dewing, who 
 had retired early, but had been roused by the 
 clamor. 
 
 They came to Largo Crossing at daybreak. 
 The trail of the robber s horse led straight to 
 Cobre, following bypaths through the moun 
 tains. The tracks showed plainly that his com 
 ing had been by these same short cuts, saving 
 time while Bat Wiley had followed the tor 
 tuous stage road through the hills. Halfway 
 back a heavy spur lay in the trail; some one 
 recognized it as Stanley Mitchell s a smith- 
 wrought spur, painfully fashioned from a sin 
 gle piece of drill steel. 
 
 They came to Cobre before sunup; they 
 found brown Awguan, dejected and sweat- 
 streaked, standing in hip-shot weariness on the 
 hill near his corral. In the corral Stanley s 
 saddle lay in the sand, the blankets sweat- 
 soaked. 
 
 Unwillingly enough, Holland woke Stan 
 from a smiling sleep to arrest him. They 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 117 
 
 searched the little room, finding the mate to 
 the spur found on the trail, but nothing else 
 to their purpose. But at last, bringing Stan s 
 saddle in before locking the house, Bull Pepper 
 noticed a bumpy appearance in the sheepskin 
 lining, and found, between saddle skirt and 
 saddle tree, the stolen money in full, and even 
 the checks that Zurich had sent. 
 
 They haled Stan before the justice, who was 
 also proprietor of the Mountain House. Waiv 
 ing examination, Stanley Mitchell was held to 
 meet the action of the Grand Jury; and in de 
 fault of bond his guilt being assured and 
 manifest he was committed to Tucson Jail. 
 
 The morning stage, something delayed on 
 his account, bore him away under guard, en 
 route, most clearly, for the penitentiary. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 MR. PETER JOHNSON S arrival in 
 Morning Gate Pass was coincident with 
 that of a very bright and businesslike sun. Mr. 
 Johnson had made a night ride from the Gav- 
 ilan country, where he had spent the better 
 part of a pleasant week, during which he had 
 contrived to commingle a minimum of labor 
 with a joyous maximum of innocent amuse 
 ment. The essence of these diversions con 
 sisted of attempts purposely clumsy to 
 elude the vigilance of such conspirator pros 
 pectors as yet remained to neighbor him; 
 sudden furtive sallies and excursions, begin 
 ning at all unreasonable and unexpected hours, 
 ending always in the nothing they set out for, 
 followed always by the frantic espionage of 
 his mystified and bedeviled guardians on 
 whom the need fell that some of them must 
 always watch while their charge reposed from 
 his labors. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 119 
 
 Tiring at last of this pastime, observing also 
 that his playfellows grew irritable and desper 
 ate, Mr. Johnson had sagely concluded that 
 his entertainment palled. Caching most of his 
 plunder and making a light pack of the re 
 mainder, he departed, yawning, taking trail 
 for Cobre in the late afternoon of the day pre 
 ceding his advent in Morning Gate. 
 
 He perched on the saddle, with a leg curled 
 round the horn; he whistled the vivacious air 
 of Tule, Tule Pan, a gay fanfaronade of roist 
 ering notes, the Mexican words for which are, 
 for considerations of high morality, best un 
 sung. 
 
 The pack-horses paced down the trail, far 
 ahead, with snatched nibblings at convenient 
 wayside tufts of grass. 
 
 Jackson Carr, freighter, was still camped at 
 Hospital Springs. He lifted up his eyes as this 
 careless procession sauntered down the hills; 
 and, rising, intercepted its coming at the forks 
 of the trail, heading the pack-horses in to- 
 
120 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 ward his camp. He walked with a twisting 
 limp, his blue eyes were faded and pale, his 
 bearded face was melancholy and sad; but as 
 he seated himself on a stone and waited for 
 Johnson s coming, some of the sadness passed 
 and his somber face lit up with unwonted an 
 imation. 
 
 " Howdy, Pete! I heard yuh was coming. I 
 waited for yuh." 
 
 Pete leaped from his horse and gripped the 
 freighter s hand. 
 
 "Jackson Carr, by all that s wonderful! 
 Jack, old man! How is it with you?" 
 
 Jackson Carr hesitated, speaking slowly: 
 
 "Sally s gone, Pete. She died eight years 
 ago. She had a hard life of it, Pete. Gay and 
 cheerful to the last, though. Always such a 
 brave little trick . . ." 
 
 His voice trailed off to silence. It was long 
 before Pete Johnson broke upon that silence. 
 
 "We 11 soon be by with it, Jack. Day before 
 yesterday we was boys together in Uvalde an* 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 121 
 
 Miss Sally a tomboy with us. To-morrow will 
 be no worse, as I figure it." He looked hard at 
 the hills. "It can t be all a silly joke. That 
 would be too stupid! No jolthead made these 
 hills. It s all right, I reckon. . . . And the little 
 shaver? He was only a yearlin when I saw him 
 last. And I have n t heard a word about you 
 
 since." 
 
 " Right as rain, Bobby is. Coin on ten now. 
 Of course t ain t as if he had his mother to look 
 after him ; but I do the best I can by him. Wish 
 he had a better show for schoolin , though. I 
 have n t been prosperin much since Sally 
 died. Seems like I sorter lost my grip. But I 
 aim to put Bobby in school here when it starts 
 up, next fall. I am asking you no questions 
 about yourself, Pete, because I have done little 
 but ask questions about you since I first heard 
 you were here, four or five days ago." 
 
 "By hooky, Jack, I never expected to see 
 you again. Where you been all these years? 
 And how d you happen to turn up here?" 
 
122 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "Never mind me, Pete. Here is too much 
 talk of my affairs and none of yours. Man, I 
 have news for your ear! Your pardner s in 
 jail." 
 
 "Ya-as? What s he been doin now?" 
 
 " Highway robbery. He got caught with the 
 goods on. Eight or nine hundred." 
 
 "The little old skeesicks! Who d have 
 thought it of him? " said Pete tolerantly. Then 
 his face clouded over. "He might have let me 
 in on it!" he complained. "Jack, you lead me 
 to your grub pile and tell me all about it. 
 Sounds real interestin . Where s Bob? He 
 asleep yet?" 
 
 "Huh! Asleep?" said Carr with a sniff that 
 expressed fatherly pride in no small degree. 
 "Not him! Lit out o here at break o day 
 him and that devil horse of his, wrangling the 
 work stock. He s a mighty help to me. I ain t 
 very spry on my pins since you know." 
 
 To eke out the words he gave an extra swing 
 to his twisted leg. They came to a great freight 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 123 
 
 wagon under a tree, with tackle showing that 
 it was a six-horse outfit. 
 
 "Here we are! Light down and unsaddle, 
 Petey, and we ll take off the packs. Turn 
 your horses loose. Bobby 11 look out for them 
 when he comes. No need to hobble. There! 
 Wash up? Over yonder s the pan. I ll pour 
 your coffee and one for myself. I ve eaten 
 already. Pitch in!" 
 
 Pete equipped himself with tinware and 
 cutlery, doubled one leg under and sat upon it 
 before the fire. From the ovens and skillets on 
 the embers Pete heaped his plate with a savory 
 stew, hot sourdough bread, fried rabbit, and 
 canned corn fried to a delicate golden brown. 
 Pete took a deep draught of the unsweetened 
 hot black coffee, placed the cup on the sand 
 beside him, and gathered up knife and fork. 
 
 From the farther side of the fire Carr brought 
 another skillet, containing jerky, with onions 
 and canned tomatoes. 
 
 "From the recipe of a nobleman in the 
 county," he said. 
 
124 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "Now, then," said Pete, "tell it to me." 
 
 So Carr told him at length the story of the 
 robbery and Stanley Mitchell s arrest, aided by 
 a few questions from Pete. 
 
 "And the funny thing is, there s a lot of 
 folks not so well satisfied yet, for all they found 
 the money and notwithstandin the young fel 
 ler himself did n t make no holler. They say 
 he was n t that kind. The deputy sher f, 
 special, says he don t believe but what it was 
 a frame-up to do him. And Bull Pepper, that 
 found the money hid in the saddle riggin , says 
 he: That money was put there a-purpose to 
 be found; fixed so it would n t be missed. " 
 
 He looked a question. 
 
 "Ya-as," said Pete. 
 
 Thus encouraged, Carr continued: 
 
 "And Old Mose Taylor, at the Mountain 
 House Mitchell got his hearin before him, 
 you know he says Mitchell ain t surprised 
 or excited or much worried, and makes no big 
 kick, just sits quiet, a-studyin , and he s 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 125 
 
 damned if he believes he ever done it. Oh, yes! 
 Mose told me if I see you to tell you young 
 Mitchell left some money in the safe for you." 
 
 "Ya-as," said Pete. "Here comes your 
 caballada. Likely looking horses, Jack." 
 
 " A leetle thin/ said Carr. 
 
 He took six nose-bags, already filled, and fed 
 his wagon stock. Bobby pulled the saddle from 
 the Nan-na pony, tied him to a bush, and gave 
 him breakfast from his own small morral. Then 
 he sidled toward the fire. 
 
 "Bobby, come over here," said Bobby s fa 
 ther. " This is your stepuncle Pete." 
 
 Bobby complied. He gave Pete a small 
 grimy hand and looked him over thoughtfully 
 from tip to tip, opening his blue eyes to their 
 widest for that purpose, under their long black 
 lashes. 
 
 "You Stan Mitchell s pardner?" 
 
 "I am that." 
 
 "You goin to break him out o the pen?" 
 
 "Surest thing you know!" said Pete. 
 
126 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "That s good!" He relaxed his grip on 
 Pete s hand and addressed himself to break 
 fast. "I like Stan," he announced, with his 
 head in the chuck-box. 
 
 Pete used the opportunity to exchange a 
 look with Bobby s father. 
 
 Bobby emerged from the chuck-box and re 
 sumed the topic of Stanley Mitchrll. 
 
 "He ll make a hand after he s been here a 
 spell Stan will," he stated gravely. 
 
 "Oh, you know him, then?" 
 
 "I was with him the evenin before the big 
 doin s. He did n t steal no money!" 
 
 "What makes you think so?" 
 
 "Easy! He s got brains, hain t he? I rode 
 with him maybe a mile, but I could see that. 
 Well! If he d stole that money, they would n t 
 a found it yet. Them fellows make me tired ! 
 
 Pete made a pretext of thirst and brought a 
 bucket for water from the spring, crooking a 
 finger at Jackson Carr to follow. Carr found 
 him seated at the spring, shaking with laughter. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 127 
 
 " Jack, he s all there your boy! Could n t 
 any judge size it up better." 
 
 " Frame-up, then?" 
 
 "Sure! That part s all right." 
 
 "I see you was n t much taken aback." 
 
 "No. We was expectin something like that 
 and had discounted it. I m just as well pleased 
 Stan s in jail just now, and I m goin to leave 
 him there a spell. Safer there. You remember 
 old Hank Bergman?" 
 
 Carr nodded. 
 
 "Well, Hank s the sheriff here and he ll 
 give us a square deal. Now I m goin back 
 to interview that boy of yours some more. I 
 reckon you re right proud of that kid, Jack." 
 
 "Yes; I am. Bobby s a pretty good boy 
 most ways. But he swears something dread 
 ful." 
 
 "Pull a strap off of him," said Pete warmly. 
 "That s a damn fine boy, and you want to 
 start him right. That s half the battle." 
 
 Pete returned to the fire for a final cup of 
 coffee. 
 
128 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "Young man," he said, " would you know 
 that brown horse Stan was ridin* when you 
 met up with him?" 
 
 "Awguan? Sure! I d know him in hell!" 
 said Bobby. 
 
 "Well, Stan turned that horse loose te 
 rustle for himself, of course. Do you reckon 
 you could stir round and find him for me 
 if your dad can spare you? I want to go to 
 the railroad to-night, and Awguan, he s fresh. 
 My horses are tired." 
 
 " If you don t want that horse," said Bobby, 
 don t send me after him." 
 
 "Now, Jack," said Pete after Bobby had 
 departed on the search for Awguan, "you go 
 away and don t pester me. I want to think." 
 
 To the processes of thought, for the space of 
 four pipes, he gave aid by hugging his knees, as 
 if he had called them in consultation. Then 
 he summoned Jackson Carr. 
 
 "How re you fixed for work, Jack?" 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 129 
 
 "None. I reckon to get plenty, though, 
 when I get my teams fitted up. They re 
 jaded from a lumber job." 
 
 "You re hired for a year, month, and 
 day. And as much longer as you like. Suit 
 you?" 
 
 "Suits me." 
 
 "You re my foreman, then. Hire your 
 teams the first thing. Make your own terms. 
 I ll tell you this much it s a big thing. A 
 mine a he-mine ; copper. That s partly why 
 Stan is in jail. And if it comes off, you won t 
 need to worry about the kid s schooling. I aim 
 to give you, extra, five per cent of my share 
 and, for men like you and me, five per cent 
 of this lay is exactly the same as all of it. 
 It s that big. 
 
 "I m askin you to obey orders in the dark. 
 If you don t know any details you won t be 
 mad, and you won t know who to be mad at; so 
 you won t jump in to save the day if I fail to 
 come through with my end of it on schedule, 
 
130 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 and get yourself killed off. That ain t all r 
 either. Your face always gives you away; if 
 you knew all the very shrewd people I m 
 buckin , you d give em the marble eye, and 
 they d watch you. Not knowin em, you ll 
 treat em all alike, and you won t act suspi 
 cious. 
 
 11 Listen now: You drift out quiet and go 
 down on the Gila, somewhere between Mo 
 hawk Siding and Walton. Know that country? 
 Yes? That s good. Leave your teams there 
 and you go down to Yuma on the train. I 11 
 get a bit of money for you in Tucson, and it ll 
 be waitin for you in Old Man Brownell s store, 
 in Yuma. You get a minin outfit, complete, 
 and a good layout of grub, enough to last six 
 or seven men till it s all gone, and some bed- 
 din , two or three thirty- thirty rifles, any 
 large quantity of cartridges, and most any 
 thing else you see. 
 
 "Here s the particular part: Buy two more 
 wagons, three-and-a-half-inch axles; about 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 131 
 
 twenty barrels; two pack-saddles and kegs for 
 same, for packing water from some tanks when 
 your water wagons don t do the trick. Ship all 
 this plunder up to Mohawk. 
 
 " Here s the idea: I m goin back East for 
 capital, and I m comin back soon. Me and 
 my friends not a big bunch, but every man- 
 jack of em to be a regular person are goin 
 to start from Tucson, or Douglas, and hug the 
 Mexican border west across the desert, ridin 
 light and fast; you re to go south with water; 
 and Cobre is to be none the wiser. Here, I 11 
 make you a map." 
 
 He traced the map in the sand. 
 
 11 Here s the railroad, and Mohawk; here s 
 your camp on the Gila. Just as soon as you 
 get back, load up one of your new wagons with 
 water and go south. There s no road, but 
 there s two ranges that makes a lane, twenty 
 miles wide, leadin to the southeast: Lomas 
 Negras, the black mountain due south of Mo 
 hawk, and Cabeza Prieta, a brown-colored 
 
132 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 range, farther west. Keep right down the 
 middle, but miss all the sand you can; you ll 
 be layin out a road you ll have to travel a 
 heap. Only, of course, you can straighten it 
 out and better it after you learn the country. 
 It might be a pious idea for you to ship up a 
 mowing machine and a hayrake from Yuma, 
 like you was fixin to cut wild hay. It s a 
 good plan always to leave something to satisfy 
 curiosity. Or, play you was aimin to dry-farm. 
 You shape up your rig to suit yourself but 
 play up to it." 
 
 "I ll hay it," said Carr. 
 
 "All right hay it, by all means. Take 
 your first load of water out about twenty-five 
 miles and leave it using as little as you can 
 to camp on. You 11 have to have three full sets 
 of chains and whiffletrees for your six-horse 
 team, of course. You can t bother with drag 
 ging a buckboard along behind to take em 
 back with. Go back to the railroad, take a 
 second load of water, camp the first night out 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 133 
 
 at your first wagon, and leave the second load 
 of water farther south, twenty-five miles or so. 
 
 * Then go back to the Gila and pack the rest 
 of your plunder in this wagon of yours, all 
 ready to start the minute you get a telegram 
 from me. Wire back to me so I 11 know when 
 to start. You will have water for your horses 
 at twenty-five miles and fifty, and enough left 
 to use when you go back for your next trip. 
 After that we ll have other men to help you. 
 
 "When you leave the last wagon, put on all 
 the water your horses can draw. You 11 strike 
 little or no sand after that and we ll need all 
 the water we can get. With no bad luck, you 
 come out opposite the south end of your black 
 mountain the third day. Wait there for us. 
 It s three long days, horseback, from Tucson; 
 we ought to get to your camp that night. 
 
 "If we don t come, wait till noon the next 
 day. Then saddle up, take your pack-saddles 
 and kegs, and drag it for the extreme south end 
 of the mountains on your west, about twenty 
 
134 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 miles. That ought to leave enough water at 
 the wagon for us to camp on if we come later. 
 If you wait for us, your horses will use it all up. 
 
 "When you come to the south end of your 
 Cabeza Prieta Mountain, right spang on the 
 border, you 11 find a canon there, coming down 
 from the north, splitting the range. Turn up 
 that canon, and when it gets so rough you can t 
 go any farther, keep right on; you 11 find some 
 rock tanks full of water, in a box where the 
 sun can t get em. That s all. Got that?" ; 
 
 " I Ve got it," said Carr. " But Pete, are n t 
 you taking too long a chance? Why can t I 
 or both of us just slip down there quietly 
 and do enough work on your mine to hold it? 
 They re liable to beat you to it." 
 
 "I ve been tryin to make myself believe 
 that a long time," said Pete earnestly; "but I 
 am far too intelligent. These people are capa 
 ble of any rudeness. And they are strictly on 
 the lookout. I do not count myself timid, but 
 I don t want to tackle it. That mine ain t 
 worth over six or eight millions at best." 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 135 
 
 "But they won t be watching me," said 
 Carr. 
 
 " Maybe not. I hope not. For one thing, 
 you ll have a good excuse to pull out from 
 Cobre. You won t get any freighting here. 
 Old Zurich has got it all grabbed and con 
 tracted for. All you could get would be a sub 
 contract, giving you a chance to do the work 
 and let Zurich take the profit. 
 
 "Now, to come back to this mine: No one 
 knows where it is. It s pretty safe till I go after 
 it; and I m pretty safe till I go after it. Once 
 we get to it, it s going to be a case of armed 
 pickets and Who goes there? night and day, 
 till we get legal title. And it s going to take 
 slews of money and men and horses to get 
 water and supplies to those miners and war 
 riors. Listen: One or the other of two things 
 two is going to happen. Count em off 
 on your fingers. Either no one will find that 
 mine before me and my friends meet up with 
 you and your water, or else some one will find 
 
136 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 it before then. If no one finds it first, we ve 
 lost nothing. That s plain. But if my Cobre 
 friends the push that railroaded Stan to 
 jail if they should find that place while I m 
 back in New York, and little Jackson Carr 
 working on it Good-bye, Jackson Carr! 
 They d kill you without a word. That s an 
 other thing I m going back to New York for 
 besides getting money. There s something be 
 hind Stanley s jail trip besides the copper prop 
 osition; and that something is back in New 
 York. I m going to see what about it. 
 
 "Just one thing more: If we don t come, 
 and you have to strike out for the tanks in 
 Cabeza Mountain, you 11 notice a mess of low, 
 little, insignificant, roan-colored, squatty hills 
 spraddled along to the south of you. You shun 
 them hills, bearing off to your right. There s 
 where our mine is. And some one might be 
 watching you or following your tracks. That s 
 all. Now I m going to sleep. Wake me about 
 an hour by sun/ 1 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 137 
 
 Mr. Peter Johnson sat in the office of the 
 Tucson Jail and smiled kindly upon Mr. Stan 
 ley Mitchell. 
 
 "Well, you got here at last," said Stan. 
 41 Gee, but I m glad to see you ! What kept you 
 so long?" 
 
 " Stanley, I am surprised at you. I am so. 
 You keep on like this and you re going to have 
 people down on you. Too bad! But I suppose 
 boys will be boys," said Pete tolerantly. 
 
 "I knew you d spring something like this," 
 said Stan. "Take your time." 
 
 " I m afraid it s you that will take time, my 
 boy. Can t you dig up any evidence to help 
 you?" 
 
 " I don t see how. I went to sleep and did n t 
 hear a thing; did n t wake up till they arrested 
 
 me." 
 
 "Oh! You re claiming that you did n t do 
 the robbin at all? I see-e! Standing on your 
 previous record and insistin you re the vic 
 tim of foul play? Sympathy dodge? . . . Hum! 
 
138 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 You stick to that, my boy," said Pete benevo 
 lently. " Maybe that s as good a show as any. 
 Get a good lawyer. If you could hire some real 
 fine old gentleman and a nice little old gray- 
 haired lady to be your parents and weep at the 
 jury, it might help a heap. ... If you d only 
 had sense enough to have hid that money 
 where it could n t have been found, or where 
 it would n t have been a give-away on you, at 
 least! I suppose you was scared. But it sorter 
 reflects back on me, since you ve been running 
 with me lately. Folks will think I should have 
 taught you better. What made you do it, 
 Stanley?" 
 
 " I suppose you think you re going to get me 
 roiled, you old fool ! You ve got another guess, 
 then. You can t get my nanny! But I do think 
 you might tell me what s been going on. Even 
 a guilty man has his curiosity. Did you get 
 the money I left for you?" 
 
 Pete s jaw sagged; his eye expressed foggy 
 bewilderment. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 139 
 
 "Money? What money? I thought they got 
 it all when they arrested you?" 
 
 "Oh, don t be a gloomy ass! The money I 
 left with Old Man Taylor; the money you got 
 down here for preliminary expenses on the 
 
 mine." 
 
 "Mine?" echoed Pete blankly. "What 
 mine?" 
 
 "Old stuff!" Stanley laughed aloud. "Go 
 to it, old-timer! You can* t faze me. When you 
 get good and ready to ring off, let me know." 
 
 "Well, then," said Pete, "I will. Here we 
 go, fresh. And you may not be just the best- 
 pleased with my plan at first, son. I m not 
 going to bail you out." 
 
 "What the hell!" said Stan. " Why not?" 
 
 "I ve thought it all out," said Pete, "and 
 I ve talked it over with the sheriff. He s 
 agreed. You have to meet the action of the 
 Grand Jury, anyhow; you couldn t leave the 
 county; and you re better off in jail while I go 
 back to New York to rustle money." 
 
140 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "Oh you re going, are you?" 
 
 "To-night. You couldn t leave the county 
 even if you were out on bond. The sheriff s a 
 square man; he 11 treat you right; you 11 have 
 a chance to get shut of that insomnia, and 
 right here s the safest place in Pima County for 
 you. I want a letter to that cousin of yours in 
 Abingdon." 
 
 " T is n t Abingdon it s Vesper. And I m 
 not particularly anxious to tell him that I m 
 in jail on a felony charge." 
 
 " Don t want you to tell him or anybody. 
 I suppose you ve told your girl already? Yes? 
 Thought so. Well, don t you tell any one else. 
 You tell Cousin Oscar I m your pardner, and 
 all right; and that you ve got a mine, and 
 you ll guarantee the expenses for him and an 
 expert in case they re not satisfied upon inves 
 tigation. I ll do the rest. And don t you let 
 anybody bail you out of jail. You stay here." 
 
 "If I had n t seen you perform a miracle or 
 two before now, I d see you damned first!" 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 141 
 
 said Stan. "But I suppose you know what 
 you re about. It s more than I do. Make it a 
 quick one, will you? I find myself bored here." 
 
 "I will. Let me outline two of the many 
 possibilities: If I don t bail you out, I m doin 
 you dirt, ain t I? Well, then, if Zurich & Gang 
 think I m double-crossin you they ll make 
 me a proposition to throw in with them and 
 throw you down on the copper mine. That s 
 my best chance to find out how to keep you 
 from goin to the pen, is n t it? And if you 
 don t tell Vesper that you re in jail but 
 Vesper finds it out, anyhow that gives me a 
 chance to see who it is that lives in Vesper and 
 keeps in touch with Cobre. And I 11 tell you 
 something else: When I come back I ll bail 
 you out of jail and we ll start from here. 1 
 
 "For the mine, you mean?" 
 
 "Sure! Start right from the jail door at 
 midnight and ride west. Zurich & Company 
 won t be expecting that seein as how I left 
 you in the lurch, this-a-way." 
 
142 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "But my cousin will never be able to stand 
 that ride. It s a hundred and sixty miles 
 more too." 
 
 "Your cousin can join us later or who 
 ever comes along with development money. 
 There ll be about four or five of us picked 
 men. I m goin this afternoon to see an old 
 friend Joe Benavides and have him make 
 all arrangements and be all ready to start 
 whenever we get back, without any delay. I 
 won t take the sheriff, because we might have 
 negotiations to transact that would be highly 
 indecorous in a sheriff. But he s to share my 
 share, because he put up a lot more money for 
 the mine to-day. I sent it on to Yuma, where 
 an old friend of mine and the sheriff s is to buy 
 a six-horse load of supplies and carry em down 
 to join us, startin when I telegraph him. 
 
 "Got it all worked out. You do as I tell you 
 and you ll wear diamonds on your stripes. 
 Give me a note for that girl of yours, too." 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 T HE hills send down a buttress to the 
 north; against it the Susquehanna flows 
 swift and straight for a little space, vainly 
 chafing. Just where the high ridge breaks 
 sharp and steep to the river s edge there is a 
 grassy level, lulled by the sound of pleasant 
 waters; there sleep the dead of Abingdon. 
 
 Here is a fair and noble prospect, which in 
 Italy or in California had been world-famed; 
 a beauty generous and gracious valley, up 
 land and hill and curving river. The hills are 
 checkered to squares, cleared fields and green- 
 black woods; inevitably the mind goes out to 
 those who wrought here when the forest was 
 unbroken, and so comes back to read on the 
 headstones the names of the quiet dead: Hill, 
 Barton, Clark, Green, Camp, Hunt, Catlin, 
 Giles, Sherwood, Tracy, Jewett, Lane, Gibson, 
 Holmes, Yates, Hopkins, Goodenow, Gris- 
 wold, Steele. Something stirs at your hair- 
 
144 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 roots these are the names of the English. A 
 few sturdy Dutch names Boyce, Steenburg, 
 Van Lear and a lonely French Mercereau; 
 the rest are unmixed English. 
 
 Not unnaturally you look next for an Epis 
 copalian Church, finding none in Abingdon; 
 Abingdon is given over to fiery Dissenters 
 the Old-World word comes unbidden into your 
 mouth. But you were not so far wrong; in 
 prosperous Vesper, to westward, every one who 
 pretends to be any one attends services at 
 Saint Adalbert s, a church noted for its gra 
 cious and satisfying architecture. In Vesper 
 the name of Henry VIII is revered and his 
 example followed. 
 
 But the inquiring mind, seeking among the 
 living bearers of these old names, suffers check 
 and disillusion. There are no traditions. Their 
 title deeds trace back to Coxe s Manor, 
 Nichols Patent, the Barton Tract, the Flint 
 Purchase, Boston Ten Townships; but in- 
 dwellers of the land know nothing of who or 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 145 
 
 why was Coxe, or where stood his Manor 
 House; have no memory of the Bostonians. 
 
 In Vesper there are genealogists who might 
 tell you such things; old records that might 
 prove them; old families, enjoying wealth and 
 distinction without perceptible cause, with 
 others of the ruling caste who may have some 
 knowledge of these matters. Such grants were 
 not uncommon in the Duke of York, his Prov 
 ince. In that good duke s day, and later, fol 
 lowing the pleasant fashion set by that Pope who 
 divided his world equally between Spain and 
 Portugal, valleys and mountains were tossed to 
 supple courtiers by men named Charles, James, 
 William, or George, kings by the grace of God; 
 the goodly land, the common wealth and birth 
 right of the unborn, was granted in princedom 
 parcels to king s favorites, king s minions, to 
 favorites of king s minions, for services often 
 enough unspecified. 
 
 The toilers of Abingdon of other Abing- 
 dons, perhaps know none of these things. 
 
146 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 Winter has pushed them hard, summer been 
 all too brief; life has been crowded with a fe 
 verish instancy of work. There is a vague mem 
 ory of the Sullivan Expedition ; once a year the 
 early settlers, as a community enterprise, had 
 brought salt from Syracuse; the forest had 
 been rafted down the river; the rest is silence. 
 
 Perhaps this good old English stock, famil 
 iar for a thousand years with oppression 
 and gentility, wonted to immemorial fraud, 
 schooled by generations of cheerful teachers to 
 speak no evil of dignities, to see everything for 
 the best in the best of possible worlds, found 
 no injustice in the granting of these broad 
 manors or, at least, no novelty worthy of 
 mention to their sons. There is no whisper of 
 ancient wrong; no hint or rankling of any 
 irrevocable injustice. 
 
 Doubtless some of these land grants were 
 made, at a later day, to soldiers of the Rev 
 olution. But the children of the Revolution 
 maintain a not unbecoming unreticence as to 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 147 
 
 all things Revolutionary; from their silence in 
 this regard, as from the name of Manor, we 
 may make safe inference. Doubtless many of 
 the royalist estates were confiscated at that 
 time. Doubtless, again, our Government, to 
 encourage settlement, sold land in such large 
 parcels in early days. Incurious Abingdon 
 cares for none of these things. Singular Ab 
 ingdon! And yet are these folk, indeed, so sin 
 gular among citizens? So unseeing a people? 
 Consider that, within the memory of men liv 
 ing, the wisdom of America has made free gift 
 to the railroads, to encourage their building, of 
 so much land as goes to the making of New 
 England, New York, New Jersey, Pennsyl 
 vania, Delaware, Maryland, Ohio, Indiana, 
 and Illinois; a notable encouragement! 
 
 History does not remark upon this little 
 transaction, however. In some piecemeal 
 fashion, a sentence here, a phrase elsewhere, 
 with scores or hundreds of pages intervening, 
 History does, indeed, make yawning allusion 
 
148 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 to some such trivial circumstance; refraining 
 from comment in the most well-bred manner 
 imaginable. It is only the ill-affected, the 
 malcontents, who dwell upon such details. Is 
 this not, indeed, a most beautiful world, and 
 ours the land of opportunity, progress, educa 
 tion? Let our faces, then, be ever glad and 
 shining. Let us tune ourselves with the In 
 finite; let a golden thread run through all our 
 days; no frowns, no grouches, no scolding no, 
 no! No ingratitude for all the bounties of Prov 
 idence. Let us, then, be up and doing. Doing, 
 certainly; but why not think a little too? 
 
 Why is thinking in such disfavor? Why is 
 thinking, about subjects and things, the one 
 crime never forgiven by respectability? We 
 have given away our resources, what should 
 have been our common wealth ; we have squan 
 dered our land, wasted our forests. "Such 
 trifles are not my business," interrupts His 
 tory, rather feverish of manner; "my duty to 
 record and magnify the affairs of the great. " 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 149 
 
 Allow me, madam; we have given away our 
 coal, the wealth of the past; our oil, the wealth 
 of to-day; except we do presently think to 
 some purpose, we shall give away our stored 
 electricity, the wealth of the future our 
 water power which should, which must, re 
 main ours and our children s. "Socialist!" 
 shrieks History. 
 
 The youth of Abingdon speak glibly of 
 Shepherd Kings, Constitution of Lycurgus, 
 Thermopylae, Consul Duilius, or the Licinian 
 Laws; the more advanced are even as far down 
 as Elizabeth. For the rich and unmatched 
 history of their own land, they have but a 
 shallow patter of that; no guess at its high 
 meaning, no hint of a possible destiny apart 
 from glory and greed and war, a future and 
 opportunity "too high for hate, too great for 
 rivalry." The history of America is the story 
 of the pioneer and the story of the immigrant. 
 The students are taught nothing of the one or 
 the other except for the case of certain im- 
 
150 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 migrant pioneers, enskied and sainted, who 
 never left the hearing of the sea; a sturdy and 
 stout-hearted folk enough, but something 
 press-agented. 
 
 Outside of school the student hears no men 
 tion of living immigrant or pioneer save in 
 terms of gibe and sneer and taunt. The color 
 and high romance of his own township is a 
 thing undreamed of, as vague and shapeless as 
 the foundations of Enoch, the city of Cain. 
 And for his own farmstead, though for the first 
 time on earth a man made here a home; 
 though valor blazed the path; though he laid 
 the foundation of that house in hope and in 
 love set up the gates of it, none knows the 
 name of that man or of his bolder mate. There 
 are no traditions and no ballads. 
 
 A seven-mile stretch of the river follows the 
 outlines of a sickle, or, if you are not familiar 
 with sickles, of a handmade figure five. Abing- 
 don lies at the sickle point, prosperous Vesper 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 151 
 
 at the end of the handle; Vesper, the county 
 seat, abode of lawyers and doctors some 
 bankers, too. Home also of retired business 
 men, of retired farmers; home of old families, 
 hereditary county officials, legislators. 
 
 Overarched with maples, the old road par 
 allels the river bend, a mile away. The broad 
 and fertile bottom land within the loop of this 
 figure five is divided into three great farms 
 "gentlemen s estates/* The gentlemen are 
 absentees all. 
 
 A most desirable neighborhood; the only 
 traces of democracy on the river road are the 
 schoolhouse and the cemetery. Malvern and 
 Brookfield were owned respectively by two 
 generals, gallant soldiers of the Civil War, 
 successful lawyers, since, of New York City. 
 Stately, high-columned Colonial houses, far 
 back from the road; the clustered tenant 
 houses, the vast barns, long red tobacco sheds 
 all are eloquent of a time when lumber was 
 the cheapest factor of living. 
 
152 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 The one description serves for the two farms. 
 These men had been boys together, their 
 careers the same; they had married sisters. 
 But the red tobacco sheds of Malvern were 
 only three hundred feet long this general 
 had left a leg at Malvern Hill while the 
 Brookfield sheds stretched full five hundred 
 feet. At Brookfield, too, were the great racing- 
 stables, of fabulous acreage; disused now and 
 falling to decay. One hundred and sixty thor 
 oughbreds had sheltered here of old, with an 
 army of grooms and trainers. There had been 
 a race-track an oval mile at first, a kite- 
 shaped mile in later days. Year by year now 
 sees the stables torn down and carted away 
 for other uses, but the strong-built paddocks 
 remain to witness the greatness of days de 
 parted. 
 
 Nearest to Vesper, on the smallest of the 
 three farms, stood the largest of the three 
 houses The Meadows; better known as the 
 Mitchell House. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 153 
 
 McClintock, a foreigner from Philadelphia, 
 married a Mitchell in 67. A good family, 
 highly connected, the Mitchells; brilliant, free 
 handed, great travelers; something wildish, 
 the younger men boys will be boys. 
 
 In a silent, undemonstrative manner of his 
 own McClintock gathered the loose money in 
 and about Vesper; a shrewd bargainer, un- 
 given to merrymakings ; one who knew how to 
 keep dollars at work. It is worthy of note that 
 no after hint of ill dealing attached to these 
 years. In his own bleak way the man dealt 
 justly; not without a prudent liberality as 
 well. For debtors deserving, industrious, and 
 honest, he observed a careful and exact kind 
 ness, passing by his dues cheerfully, to take 
 them at a more convenient season. Where 
 death had been, long sickness, unmerited mis 
 fortune he did not stop there; advancing 
 further sums for a tiding-over, after care 
 ful consideration of needs and opportunities, 
 coupled with a reasonable expectation of re- 
 
154 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 payment; cheerfully taking any security at 
 hand, taking the security of character as cheer 
 fully when he felt himself justified; in good 
 time exacting his dues to the last penny still 
 cheerfully. Not heartless, either; in cases of 
 extreme distress more than once or twice 
 McClintock had both written off the obliga 
 tion and added to it something for the day s 
 need, in a grim but not unkindly fashion; al 
 ways under seal of secrecy. No extortioner, 
 this; a dry, passionless, pertinacious man. 
 
 McClintock bought the Mitchell House in 
 the seventies boys still continuing to be 
 boyish and there, a decade later, his wife 
 died, childless. 
 
 McClintock disposed of his takings un 
 observed, holding Mitchell House only, and 
 slipped away to New York or elsewhere. The 
 rents of Mitchell House were absorbed by a 
 shadowy, almost mythical agent, whose name 
 you always forgot until you hunted up the 
 spidery signature on the receipts given by the 
 bank for your rent money. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 155 
 
 Except for a curious circumstance connected 
 with Mitchell House, McClintock had been 
 quite forgotten of Vesper and Abingdon. The 
 great house was much in demand as a summer 
 residence; those old oak- walled rooms were 
 spacious and comfortable, if not artistic; the 
 house was admirably kept up. It was in the 
 most desirable neighborhood ; there was fishing 
 and boating; the situation was " sightly." We 
 borrow the last word from the hill folk, the 
 presentee landlords; the producers, or, to put 
 it quite bluntly, the workers. 
 
 As the years slipped by, it crept into com 
 mon knowledge that not every one could ob 
 tain a lease of Mitchell House. Applicants, 
 Vesperian or " foreigners," were kept waiting; 
 almost as if the invisible agent were examining 
 into their eligibility. And it began to be ob 
 served that leaseholders were invariably light, 
 frivolous, pleasure-loving people, such as kept 
 the big house crowded with youth and folly, to 
 company youth of its own. Such lessees were 
 
156 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 like to make agriculture a mockery; the Mitch 
 ell Place, as a farm, became a hissing, and a 
 proverb, and an astonishment: a circumstance 
 so singularly at variance with remembered 
 thrift of the reputed owner as to keep green 
 that owner s name. Nor was that all. As 
 youth became mature and wise, in the sad 
 heartrending fashion youth has, or flitted to 
 new hearths, in that other heartbreaking way 
 of youth, it was noted that leases were not to 
 be renewed on any terms; and the new ten 
 ants, in turn, were ever such light and unthrif t 
 folk as the old, always with tall sons and gay 
 daughters as if the mythical agent or his 
 ghostly principal had set apart that old house 
 to mirth and joy and laughter, to youth and 
 love. It was remembered then, on certain 
 struggling hill farms, that old McClintock had 
 been childless; and certain hill babies were 
 cuddled the closer for that. 
 
 Then, thirty years later, or forty some 
 such matter McClintock slipped back to 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 157 
 
 Vesper unheralded very many times a mil 
 lionaire; incidentally a hopeless invalid, sen 
 tenced for life to a wheeled chair; Vesper s 
 most successful citizen. 
 
 Silent, uncomplaining, unapproachable, and 
 grim, he kept to his rooms in the Iroquois, old 
 est of Vesper s highly modern hotels; or was 
 wheeled abroad by his one attendant, who was 
 valet, confidant, factotum, and friend Cor 
 nelius Van Lear, withered, parchment-faced, 
 and brown, strikingly like Rameses II as to 
 appearance and garrulity. It was to Van Lear 
 that Vesper owed the known history of those 
 forty years of McClintock s. Closely ques 
 tioned, the trusted confidant had once yielded 
 to cajolery. 
 
 "We ve been away," said Van Lear. 
 
 It was remarked that the inexplicable 
 Mitchell House policy remained in force in the 
 years since McClintock s return; witness the 
 present incumbent, frivolous Thompson, for 
 eigner from Buffalo him and his house 
 
158 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 parties! It was Mitchell House still, mauger 
 the McClintock millions and a half -century 
 of possession. Whether this clinging to the 
 old name was tribute to the free-handed 
 Mitchells or evidence of fine old English firm 
 ness is a matter not yet determined. 
 
 The free-handed Mitchells themselves, as 
 a family, were no more. They had scattered, 
 married or died, lost their money, gone to work, 
 or otherwise disappeared. Vesper kept knowl 
 edge of but two of them: Lawyer Oscar, solid, 
 steady, highly respectable, already in the way 
 of becoming Squire Mitchell, and like to better 
 the Mitchell tradition of prosperity a warm 
 man, a getting-on man, not to mention that 
 he was the older nephew and probable heir to 
 the McClintock millions; and Oscar s cousin, 
 Stanley, youngest nephew of the millions, who, 
 three years ago, had defied McClintock to his 
 face. Stan Mitchell had always been wild, 
 even as a boy, they said; they remembered 
 now. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 159 
 
 It seemed that McClintock had commanded 
 young Stan to break his engagement to that 
 Selden girl the schoolma am at Brookfield, 
 my dear one of the hill people. There had 
 been a terrible scene. Earl Dawson was stay 
 ing at the Iroquois and his door happened to 
 be open a little. 
 
 "Then you ll get none of my money!" said 
 the old gentleman. 
 
 "To hell with your money !" Stan said, and 
 slammed the door. 
 
 He was always a dreadful boy, my dear! So 
 violent and headstrong! Always picking on 
 my poor Johnny at school ; Johnny came home 
 once with the most dreadful bruise over his 
 eye Stanley s work. 
 
 So young Stan flung away to the West three 
 years ago. The Selden girl still teaches the 
 Brookfield District; Stan Mitchell writes to 
 her, the mail carrier says. No-o; not so bad- 
 looking, exactly in that common sort of 
 way! 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 FAR be it from me to to " 
 "Cavil or carp?" 
 
 "Exactly. Thank you. Beautiful line! 
 Quite Kipling. Far from me to cavil or carp, 
 Tum-tee-tum-tee-didy, Or shift the shuttle 
 from web or warp. And all for my dark-eyed 
 lydy! Far be it from me, as above. Neverthe 
 less 1 
 
 "Why, then, the exertion?" 
 
 "Duty. Friendship. Francis Charles Bo- 
 land, you re lazy." 
 
 "Ferdie," said Francis Charles, "you are 
 right. I am." 
 
 "Too lazy to defend yourself against the 
 charge of being lazy?" 
 
 "Not at all. The calm repose; that sort of 
 thing what?" 
 
 Mr. Boland s face assumed the patient ex 
 pression of one misjudged. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 161 
 
 "Laziness! " repeated Ferdie sternly. " T is 
 a vice that I abhor. Slip me a smoke." 
 
 Francis Charles fumbled in the cypress hu 
 midor at Ferdie s elbow; he leaned over the 
 table and gently closed Ferdie s finger and 
 thumb upon a cigarette. 
 
 " Match," sighed Ferdie. 
 
 Boland struck a match; he held the flame to 
 the cigarette s end. Ferdie puffed. Then he 
 eyed his friend with judicial severity. 
 
 "Abominably lazy! Every opportunity 
 family, education brains, perhaps. Why 
 don t you go to work?" 
 
 "My few and simple wants " Boland 
 waved his hand airily. "Besides, who am I 
 that I should crowd to the wall some worthy 
 and industrious person? practically taking 
 the bread from the chappie s mouth, you 
 might say. No, no!" said Mr. Boland with 
 emotion; "I may have my faults, but " 
 
 "Why don t you go in for politics?" 
 
 "Ferdinand, little as you may deem it, there 
 are limits." 
 
162 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "You have no ambition whatever?" 
 
 "By that sin fell the angels and look at 
 them now!" 
 i "Why not take a whirl at law?" 
 
 Boland sat up stiffly. "Mr. Sedgwick," he 
 observed with exceeding bitterness, "you go 
 too far. Take back your ring! Henceforth we 
 meet as str-r-r-rangers ! " 
 
 "Ever think of writing? You do enough 
 reading, Heaven knows." 
 
 Mr. Boland relapsed to a sagging sprawl; he 
 adjusted his finger tips to touch with delicate 
 nicety. 
 
 "Modesty," he said with mincing primness, 
 "is the brightest jewel in my crown. Litter 
 and literature are not identical, really, though 
 the superficial observer might be misled to 
 think so. And yet, in a higher sense, perhaps, 
 it may almost be said, with careful limitations, 
 that, considering certain delicate nuances of 
 filtered thought, as it were, and making metic 
 ulous allowance for the personal equation " 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 163 
 
 " Grisly ass! Well, then, what s the matter 
 with the army?" 
 
 " My prudence is such," responded Mr. Bo- 
 land dreamily "in fact, my prudence is so 
 very such, indeed one may almost say so 
 extremely such not to mention the perti 
 nent and trenchant question so well formu 
 lated by the little Peterkin " 
 
 "Why don t you marry?" 
 
 "Ha!" said Francis Charles. 
 
 " Whacha mean Ha ? " 
 
 "I mean what the poet meant when he 
 spoke so feelingly of the 
 
 " eager boys 
 
 Who might have tasted girl s love and been stung." 
 
 "Did n t say it. Who?" 
 
 "Did, too! William Vaughn Moody. So I 
 say Ha! in the deepest and fullest meaning of 
 the word; and I will so defend it with my life." 
 
 "If you were good and married once, you 
 might not be such a fool," said Sedgwick hope 
 fully. 
 
164 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "Take any form but this" Mr. Boland in 
 flated his chest and held himself oratorically 
 erect "and my firm nerves shall never 
 tremble! I have tracked the tufted pocolunas 
 to his lair; I have slain the eight-legged galli- 
 wampus; I have bearded the wallipaloova in 
 his noisome den, and gazed into the glaring 
 eyeballs of the fierce Numidian liar; and I ll 
 try everything once except this. But I have 
 known too many too-charming girls too well. 
 To love them," said Francis Charles sadly, 
 4 was a business education." 
 
 He lit a cigar, clasped his hands behind his 
 head, tilted his chair precariously, and turned 
 a blissful gaze to the little rift of sky beyond 
 the crowding maples. 
 
 Mr. Boland was neither tall nor short; 
 neither broad nor slender; neither old nor 
 young. He wore a thick mop of brown hair, 
 tinged with chestnut in the sun. His forehead 
 was broad and high and white and shapely. 
 His eyes were deep-set and wide apart, very 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 165 
 
 innocent, very large, and very brown, fringed 
 with long lashes that any girl might envy. 
 There the fine chiseling ceased. Ensued a nose 
 bold and broad, freckled and inclined to pug- 
 gishness; a wide and generous mouth, quirky 
 as to the corners of it; high cheek bones; and 
 a square, freckled jaw all these ill-assorted 
 features poised on a strong and muscular neck. 
 
 Sedgwick, himself small and dark and wiry, 
 regarded Mr. Boland with a scorning and dep 
 recatory eye but with private approval. 
 
 "You re getting on, you know. You re 
 thirty past. I warn you." 
 
 "Ha! 11 said Francis Charles again. 
 
 Sedgwick raised his voice appealingly. 
 
 "Hi, Thompson! Here a minute! Should n t 
 Francis Charles marry?" 
 
 "Ab-so-lute-ly!" boomed a voice within. 
 
 The two young men, it should be said, sat on 
 the broad porch of Mitchell House. The boom 
 ing voice came from the library* 
 
 "Must n t Francis Charles go to work?" 
 
1 66 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 In the library a chair overturned with a 
 crash. A startled silence; then the sound of 
 swift feet. Thompson came through the open 
 French window; a short man, with a long 
 shrewd face and a frosted poll. Feigned anx 
 iety sat on his brow ; he planted his feet firmly 
 and wide apart, and twinkled down at his 
 young guests. 
 
 "Pardon me, Mr. Sedgwick I fear I did 
 not catch your words correctly. You were say 
 ing-?" 
 
 Francis Charles brought his chair to level 
 and spoke with great feeling: 
 
 "As our host, to whom our bright young 
 lives have been entrusted for a time stand 
 ing to us, as you do, almost as a locoed parent 
 I put it to you 
 
 "Shut up!" roared Ferdie. "Thompson, 
 you see this this object? You hear it? 
 Must n t it go to work?" 
 
 " Ab-so-lutissimusly ! " 
 
 "I protest against this outrage," said 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 167 
 
 Francis Charles. " Thompson, you re beastly 
 sober. I appeal to your better self. I am a 
 philosopher. Sitting under your hospitable 
 rooftree, I render you a greater service by my 
 calm and dispassionate insight than I could 
 possibly do by any ill-judged activity. Undis 
 turbed and undistracted by greed, envy, am 
 bition, or desire, I see things in their true pro 
 portion. A dreamy spectator of the world s 
 turmoil, I do not enter into the hectic hurly- 
 burly of life; I merely withhold my approval 
 from cant, shams, prejudice, formulae, hypoc 
 risy, and lies. Such is the priceless service of 
 the philosopher. " 
 
 " Philosopher, my foot!" jeered Ferdie. 
 " You re a brow! A solemn and sanctimonious 
 brow is bad enough, but a sprightly and god 
 less brow is positive-itutely the limit!" 
 
 "That s absurd, you know," objected Fran 
 cis Charles. "No man is really irreligious. 
 Whether we make broad the phylactery or 
 merely our minds, we are all alike at heart. 
 
168 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 The first waking thought is invariably, What 
 of the day? It is a prayer unconscious, un 
 spoken, and sincere. We are all sun worshipers; 
 and when we meet we invoke the sky a good 
 day to you; a good night to you. It is a highly 
 significant fact that all conversation begins 
 with the weather. The weather is the most 
 important fact in any one day, and, therefore, 
 the most important fact in the sum of our days. 
 We recognize this truth in our greetings; we 
 propitiate the dim and nameless gods of storm 
 and sky; we reverence their might, their paths 
 above our knowing. Nor is this all. A fine day; 
 a bad day with the careless phrases we as 
 sent to such tremendous and inevitable im 
 plications: the helplessness of humanity, the 
 brotherhood of man, equality, democracy. 
 For what king or kaiser, against the implaca 
 ble wind " 
 
 Ferdie rose and pawed at his ears with both 
 hands. 
 
 " For the love of the merciful angels! Can 
 the drivel and cut the drool!" 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 169 
 
 "Those are very good words, Sedgwick," 
 said Mr. Thompson approvingly. "The word 
 I had on my tongue was balderdash. But 
 your thought was happier. Balderdash is a 
 vague and shapeless term. It conjures up no 
 definite vision. But drivel and drool very 
 excellent words. " 
 
 Mr. Thompson took a cigar and seated him 
 self, expectant and happy. 
 
 "Boland, what did you come here for, any 
 how?" demanded Ferdie explosively. "Do you 
 play tennis? Do you squire the girls? Do you 
 take a hand at bridge? Do you fish? Row? 
 Swim? Motor? Golf? Booze? Not you! 
 Might as well have stayed in New York. Two 
 weeks now you have perched oh a porch 
 perched and sat, and nothing more. Dawdle 
 and dream and foozle over your musty old 
 books. Yah! Highbrow!" 
 * "Little do you wot; but I do more ah, far 
 more! than perching on this porch." 
 
 "What do you do? Mope and mowl? If so, 
 
170 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 mowl for us. I never saw anybody mowl. Or 
 does one hear people when they mowl?" 
 
 " Naturally it would n t occur to you but 
 I think. About things. Mesopotamia. The 
 spring-time of the world. Ur of the Chaldees. 
 Melchisedec. Arabia Felix. The Simple Life; 
 and Why Men Leave Home." 
 
 " No go, Boland, old socks! " said Thompson. 
 " Our young friend is right, you know. You are 
 not practical. Yo u are booky. You are a 
 dreamer. Get into the game. Get busy! Get 
 into business. Get a wad. Get! Found an 
 estate. Be somebody!" 
 
 "As for me, I go for a stroll. You give little 
 Frankie a pain in his feelings! For a crooked 
 tuppence I d get somebody to wire me to come 
 to New York at once. Uttering these in 
 trepid words the brave youth rose gracefully 
 and, without a glance at his detractors, saun 
 tered nonchalantly to the gate. Unless, of 
 course, you meant it for my good?" He bent 
 his brows inquiringly. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 171 
 
 " We meant it " said Ferdie, and paused. 
 
 " for your good," said Thompson. 
 
 "Oh, well, if you meant it for my good!" 
 said Boland graciously. "All the same, if I 
 ever decide to be somebody, 1 I m going to be 
 Francis Charles Boland, and not a dismal imi 
 tation of a copy of some celebrated poseur 
 I ll tell you those! Speaking as a man of lib 
 eral or lax morality, you surprise me. 
 You are godly and cleanly men; yet, when you 
 saw in me a gem of purest ray serene, did you 
 appeal to my better nature? Nary! In a wild 
 and topsy-turvy world, did you implore me 
 to devote my splendid and un wasted energies 
 in the service of Good, with a capital G? Nix! 
 You appealed to ambition, egotism, and greed. 
 . . . Fie! A fie upon each of you!" 
 
 "Don t do that! Have mercy! We appeal 
 to your better nature. We repent." 
 
 "All the same, I am going for my stroll, re 
 joined the youth, striving to repress his right 
 eous indignation out of consideration for his 
 
172 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 humiliated companions, who now alas, too 
 late! saw their conduct in itc true light. For, 
 he continued, with a flashing look from his in 
 telligent eyes, I desire no pedestal; I am not 
 avaricious. Be mine the short and simple 
 flannels of the poor.", 
 
 An hour later Francis Charles paused in his 
 strolling, cap in hand, and turned back with 
 Mary Selden. 
 
 "How fortunate !" he said. . 
 
 "Isn t it?" said Miss Selden. "Odd, too, 
 considering that I take this road home every 
 evening after school is out. And when we re 
 flect that you chanced this way last Thursday 
 at half-past four and again on Friday it 
 amounts to a coincidence." 
 
 "Direction of the subconscious mind," ex 
 plained Francis Charles, unabashed. "Pro 
 found meditation thirst for knowledge. 
 What more natural than that my heedless foot 
 should stray, instinctively as it were, toward 
 the the " 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 173 
 
 41 old oaken schoolhouse that stood in a 
 swamp. It is a shame, of the burning variety 
 that a State as wealthy as New York does n t 
 and won t provide country schools with play 
 grounds big enough for anything but tiddledy- 
 winks!" declared Miss Selden. Her fine firm 
 lip curled. Then she turned her clear gray 
 eyes upon Mr. Boland. " Excuse me for in 
 terrupting you, please." 
 
 "Don t mention it! People always have to 
 interrupt me when they want to say anything. 
 And now may I put a question or two? About 
 geography history that sort of thing? >J 
 
 The eyes further considered Mr. Boland. 
 
 " You are not very complimentary to Mr. 
 Thompson s house party, I think," said Mary 
 in a cool, little, matter-of-fact voice. 
 
 Altogether a cool-headed and practical 
 young lady, this midget schoolma am, with 
 her uncompromising directness of speech and 
 her clear eyes a merry, mirthful, frank, 
 dainty, altogether delightful small person. 
 
174 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 Francis Charles stole an appreciative glance 
 at the trim and jaunty figure beside him and 
 answered evasively: 
 
 "It was like this, you know: Was reading 
 Mark Twain s Life on the Mississippi. 1 On 
 the first page he observes of that river that it 
 draws its water supply from twenty-eight 
 States, all the way from Delaware to Idaho. 
 I don t just see it. Delaware, you know 
 that s pretty steep !" 
 
 "If it were not for his reputation I should 
 suspect Mr. Clemens of levity," said Mary. 
 "Could it have been a slip?" 
 
 "No slip. It s repeated. At the end of the 
 second chapter he says this I think I have 
 it nearly word for word: At the meeting of the 
 waters from Delaware and from Itasca, and 
 from the mountain ranges close upon the Pa 
 cific Now what did he mean by making this 
 very extraordinary statement twice? Is there 
 a catch about it? Canals, or something?" 
 
 "I think, perhaps," said Mary, "he meant 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 175 
 
 to poke fun at our habit of reading without 
 attention and of accepting statement as proof." 
 
 " That s it, likely. But maybe there s a 
 joker about canals. Was n t there a Baltimore 
 and Ohio Canal? But again, if so, how did 
 water from Delaware get to Baltimore? Any 
 how, that s how it all began studying about 
 canals. For, how about this dry canal along 
 here? It runs forty miles that I know of 
 I Ve seen that much of it, driving Thompson s 
 car. It must have cost a nice bunch of money. 
 Who built it? When did who build it? What 
 did it cost? Where did it begin? Where did it 
 start to? Was it ever finished? Was it ever 
 used? What was the name of it? Nobody seems 
 to know." 
 
 "I can t answer one of those questions, Mr. 
 Boland." 
 
 "And you a schoolmistress! Come now! 
 I 11 give you one more chance. What are the 
 principal exports of Abingdon?" 
 
 "That s easy. Let me see: potatoes, milk, 
 
176 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 eggs, butter, cheese. And hay, lumber, lath 
 and bark chickens and and apples, ap 
 ple cider rye, buckwheat, buckwheat flour, 
 maple sirup; pork and veal and beef; and 
 and that s all, I guess. " 
 
 "Wrong! I ll mark you fifty per cent. 
 You ve omitted the most important item. 
 Abingdon and every country town, I sup 
 pose ships off her young people to New 
 York; to the factories; a few to the West. 
 That is why Abingdon is the saddest place 
 I ve ever seen. Every farmhouse holds a 
 tragedy. The young folk 
 
 "They are all gone away; 
 
 The house is shut and still. 
 There is nothing more to say." 
 
 Mary Selden stopped; she looked up at her 
 companion thoughtfully. Seashell colors ebbed 
 from her face and left it almost pale. 
 
 "Thank you for reminding me," she said. 
 "There is another bit of information I think 
 you should have. You ll probably think me 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 177 
 
 bold, forward, and the rest of it; I can t help 
 that; you need the knowledge." 
 
 Francis Charles groaned. 
 
 "For my good, of course. Funny how any 
 thing that s good for us is always disagreeable. 
 Well, let shave it!" 
 
 " It may not be of the slightest consequence 
 to you," began Mary, slightly confused. "And 
 perhaps you know all about it any old 
 gossip could tell you. It s a wonder if they 
 have n t; you ve been here two weeks." 
 
 Boland made a wry face. 
 
 "I see! Exports?" 
 
 Mary nodded, and her brave eyes drooped a 
 little. 
 
 " Abingdon s finest export in my opinion, 
 at least went to Arizona. And and he s 
 in trouble, Mr. Boland ; else I might not have 
 told you this. But it seemed so horrid of me 
 when he s in such dreadful trouble. So, now 
 you know." 
 
 Arizona?" said Boland. "Why, there s 
 
178 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 where Excuse me; I did n t mean to pry." 
 " Yes, Stanley Mitchell. Only that you stick 
 in your shell, like a turtle, you d have heard 
 before now that we were engaged. Are engaged. 
 And you must n t say a word. No one knows 
 about the trouble not even his uncle. I ve 
 trusted you, Mr. Boland." 
 
 "See here, Miss Selden I m really not a 
 bad sort. If I can be of any use here am I. 
 And I lived in the Southwest four years, too 
 West Texas and New Mexico. Best time I ever 
 had! So I would n t be absolutely helpless out 
 there. And I m my own man foot-loose. 
 So, if you can use me for this thing seems 
 to be serious " 
 
 11 Serious!" said Mary. "Serious! I can t 
 tell you now. I should n t have told you even 
 this much. Go now, Mr. Boland. And if we 
 if I see where I can use you that was your 
 word I 11 use you. But you are to keep 
 away from me unless I send for you. Suppose 
 Stan heard now what some gossip or other 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 179 
 
 might very well write to him that Mary 
 Selden walked home every night with a fasci 
 nating Francis Charles Boland ?" 
 
 "Tell him about me, yourself touching 
 lightly on my fascinations," advised Boland. 
 "And tell him why you tell him. Plain speak 
 ing is always the best way." 
 
 " It is," said Mary. " I 11 do that very thing 
 this night. I think I like you, Mr. Boland. 
 Thank you and good-bye!" 
 
 "Good-bye!" said Boland, touching her 
 hand. 
 
 He looked after her as she went. 
 
 "Plucky little devil!" he said. "Level and 
 straight and square. Some girl!" 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 MR. OSCAR MITCHELL, attorney and 
 counselor at law, sauntered down River 
 Street, with the cheerful and optimistic poise 
 of one who has lunched well. A well-set-up 
 man, a well-groomed man, as-it-is-done; plainly 
 worshipful; worthy the highest degree of that 
 most irregular of adjectives, respectable; com 
 parative, smart; superlative, correct. 
 
 Mr. Mitchell was correct; habited after the 
 true Polonian precept; invisible, every buckle, 
 snap, clasp, strap, wheel, axle, wedge, pulley, 
 lever, and every other mechanical device 
 known to science, was in place and of the best. 
 As to adornment, all in good taste scarfpin, 
 an unpretentious pearl in platinum; garnet 
 links, severely plain and quiet; an unobtrusive 
 watch-chain; one ring, a small emerald; no ear 
 rings. 
 
 Mr. Mitchell s face was well shaped, not 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 181 
 
 quite plump pr pink, with the unlined curves, 
 the smooth clear skin, and the rosy glow that 
 comes from health and virtue, or from good 
 living and massage. Despite fifty years, or 
 near it, the flax-smooth hair held no glint of 
 gray; his eyes, blue and big and wide, were 
 sharp and bright, calm, confident, almost can 
 did not quite the last, because of a roving 
 trick of clandestine observation; his mouth, 
 where it might or should have curved must 
 once have curved in boyhood was set and 
 guarded, even in skillful smilings, by a long 
 censorship of undesirable facts, material or 
 otherwise to any possible issue. 
 
 Mr. Mitchell s whole bearing was confident 
 and assured; his step, for all those fifty afore 
 said years, was light and elastic, even in saun 
 tering ; he took the office stairs with the inimi 
 table sprightly gallop of the town-bred. 
 
 Man is a quadruped who has learned to use 
 his front legs for other things than walking. 
 Some hold that he has learned to use his head. 
 
1 82 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 But there are three things man cannot do, and 
 four which he cannot compass: to see, to think, 
 to judge, and to act to see the obvious; to 
 think upon the thing seen; to judge between 
 our own resultant and conflicting thoughts, 
 with no furtive finger of desire to tip the bal 
 ance; and to act upon that judgment without 
 flinching. We fear the final and irretrievable 
 calamity: we fear to make ourselves conspicu 
 ous, we conform to standard, we bear our 
 selves meekly in that station whereunto it hath 
 pleased Heaven to call us; the herd instinct 
 survives four-footedness. For, we note the 
 strange but not the familiar; our thinking is to 
 right reason what peat is to coal; the outcry 
 of the living and the dead perverts judgment, 
 closes the ear to proof; and our wisest fear the 
 scorn of fools. So we walk cramped and 
 strangely under the tragic tyranny of reitera 
 tion : whatever is is right ; whatever is repeated 
 often enough is true; and logic is a device for 
 evading the self-evident. Moreover, Carthage 
 should be destroyed. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 183 
 
 Such sage reflections present themselves au 
 tomatically, contrasting the blithesome knee 
 action of prosperous Mr. Mitchell with the 
 stiffened joints of other men who had climbed 
 those hard stairs on occasion with shambling 
 step, bent backs and sagging shoulders; with 
 faces lined and interlined; with eyes dulled 
 and dim, and sunken cheeks; with hands mis 
 shapen, knotted and bent by toil: if image 
 indeed of God, strangely distorted or a 
 strange God. 
 
 Consider now, in a world yielding enough 
 and to spare for all, the endless succession of 
 wise men, from the Contributing Editor of 
 Proverbs unto this day, who have hymned the 
 praise of diligence and docility, the scorn of 
 sloth. Yet not one sage of the bountiful bunch 
 has ever ventured to denounce the twin vices 
 of industry and obedience. True, there is the 
 story of blind Samson at the mill; perhaps a 
 parable. 
 
 Underfed and overworked for generations, 
 
1 84 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 starved from birth, starved before birth, we 
 drive and harry and crush them, the weakling 
 and his weaker sons; we exploit them, gull 
 them, poison them, lie to them, filch from 
 them. We crowd them into our money mills; 
 we deny them youth, we deny them rest, we 
 deny them opportunity, we deny them hope, 
 or any hope of hope; and we provide for age 
 the poorhouse. So that charity is become of 
 all words the most feared, most hated, most 
 loathed and loathsome; worse than crime or 
 shame or death. We have left them from the 
 work of their hands enough, scantly enough, to 
 keep breath within their stunted bodies. "All 
 the traffic can bear ! " a brazen rule. Of such 
 sage policy the result can be seen in the wiz 
 ened and undersized submerged of London; 
 of nearer than London. Man, by not taking 
 thought, has taken a cubit from his stature. 
 
 Meantime we prate comfortable blasphe 
 mies, scientific or other; natural selection or the 
 inscrutable decrees of God. Whereas this was 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 185 
 
 manifestly a Hobson s selection, most unnat 
 ural and forced, to choose want of all that 
 makes life sweet and dear; to choose gaunt 
 babes, with pinched and livid lips unlovely* 
 not unloved; and these iniquitous decrees are 
 most scrutable, are surely of man s devising 
 and not of God s. Or we invent a fire-new 
 science, known as Eugenics, to treat the dis 
 ease by new naming of symptoms; and prattle 
 of the well born, when we mean well fed ; or the 
 degenerate, when we might more truly say the 
 disinherited. 
 
 It is even held by certain poltroons that 
 families have been started gutterward, of late 
 centuries, when a father has been gloriously 
 slain in the wars of the useless great. That 
 such a circumstance, however glorious, may 
 have been rather disadvantageous than other 
 wise to children thereby sent out into the 
 world at six or sixteen years, lucky to become 
 ditch-diggers or tip-takers. That some pro 
 portion of them do become beggars, thieves, 
 
1 86 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 paupers, sharpers, other things quite unfit for 
 the ear of the young person a disconcerting 
 consideration; such ears cannot be too care 
 fully guarded. That, though the occupations 
 named are entirely normal to all well-ordered 
 states, descendants of persons in those occu 
 pations tend to become "subnormal" so 
 runs the cant of it something handicapped 
 by that haphazard bullet of a lifetime since, 
 fired to advance the glorious cause of for 
 eign commerce, or the like. 
 
 Mr. Mitchell occupied five rooms lined 
 with law books and musty with the smell of 
 leather. These rooms ranged end to end, each 
 with a door that opened upon a dark hallway; 
 a waiting-room in front, the private office at 
 the rear, to which no client was ever admitted 
 directly. Depressed by delay, subdued by an 
 overflow of thick volumes, when he reaches 
 a suitable dejection he is tiptoed through dis 
 mal antechambers of wisdom, appalled by tall 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 187 
 
 bookstacks, ushered into the leather-chaired 
 office, and there further crushed by long 
 shelves of dingy tin boxes, each box crowded 
 with weighty secrets and shelved papers of 
 fabulous moment and urgency; the least 
 paper of the smallest box more important 
 the unfortunate client is clear on that point 
 than any contemptible need of his own. 
 Cowed and chastened, he is now ready to pay 
 a fee suitable to the mind that has absorbed 
 all the wisdom of those many bookshelves; or 
 meekly to accept as justice any absurdity or 
 monstrosity of the law. 
 
 Mr. Mitchell was greeted by a slim, swarthy, 
 black-eyed, elderly person of twenty-five or 
 thirty, with a crooked nose and a crooked 
 mind, half clerk and half familiar spirit Mr. 
 Joseph Pelman, to wit; who appeared perpet 
 ually on the point of choking himself by sup 
 pressed chucklings at his principal s cleverness 
 and the simplicity of dupes. 
 
 11 Well, Joe? " 
 
188 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "Two to see you, sir/ said Joe, his face lit 
 up with sprightly malice. "On the same lay. 
 That Watkins farm of yours. I got it out of 
 em. Ho, ho! I kept em in different rooms. I 
 hunted up their records in your record books. 
 Doomsday Books, / call em. Ho, ho!" 
 
 Mr. Mitchell selected a cigar, lit it, puffed 
 it, and fixed his eye on his demon clerk. 
 
 "Now then," he said sharply, "let s have 
 it!" 
 
 The demon pounced on a Brobdingnagian 
 volume upon the desk and worried it open at a 
 marker. It had been meant for a ledger, that 
 huge volume; the gray cloth covers bore the 
 legend " N to Z." Ledger it was, of a grim sort, 
 with sinister entries of forgotten sins, the item 
 ized strength or weakness of a thousand men. 
 The confidential clerk ran a long, confidential 
 finger along the spidery copperplate index of 
 the W s: " Wakelin, Walcott, Walker, Wallace, 
 Walsh Walters; Earl, John, Peter, Ray, 
 Rex, Roy Samuel page 1 124." His nim- 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 189 
 
 ble hands flew at the pages like a dog at a 
 woodchuck hole. 
 
 "Here t is Walters, Samuel: born 69, 
 son of John Walters, Holland Hill; religion 
 politics* um-um bad habits, none; two 
 years Vesper Academy; three years Dennison 
 shoe factories; married 1896 one child, b. 
 1899. Bought Travis Farm 1898, paying half 
 down; paid balance out in five years; dairy, 
 fifteen cows; forehanded, thrifty/ Humph! 
 Good pay, I guess/ 
 
 He cocked his head to one side and eyed his 
 employer, fingering a wisp of black silk on his 
 upper lip. 
 
 "And the other?" 
 
 The second volume was spread open upon 
 the desk. Clerk Pelman flung himself upon it 
 with savage fury. 
 
 "Bowen, Chauncey, son William Bowen, 
 born 1872 um-um married Louise Hill 
 92 um divorced 96; married Laura 
 Wing 96 see Lottie Hall. Ran hotel at 
 
190 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 Larren 95 to 97; sheriff s sale 97; worked 
 Bowen Farm 97 to 1912; bought Eagle Hotel, 
 Vesper, after death of William Bowen, 1900. 
 Traded Eagle Hotel for Griffin Farm, 1912; 
 sold Griffin Farm, 1914; clerk Simon s hard 
 ware store, Emmonsville, Pennsylvania. Heavy 
 drinker, though seldom actually drunk; sus 
 pected of some share in the Powers affair 
 or some knowledge, at least; poker fiend. Bank 
 note protested and paid by endorser 1897, and 
 again in 1902; has since repaid endorsers. See 
 Larren.Hotel, Eagle Hotel. 1 " 
 
 "Show him in," said Mitchell. 
 
 "Walters?" The impish clerk cocked his 
 head on one side again and gulped down a 
 chuckle at his own wit. 
 
 "Bowen, fool! Jennie Page, his mother s 
 sister, died last week and left him a legacy 
 twelve hundred dollars. I 11 have that out of 
 him, or most of it, as a first payment." 
 
 The clerk turned, his mouth twisted awry 
 to a malicious grin. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 191 
 
 "Trust you!" be chuckled admiringly, and 
 laid a confidential finger beside his crooked 
 nose. "Ho, ho! This is the third time you ve 
 sold the Watkins Farm; and it won t be the 
 last! Oh, you re a rare one, you are! Four 
 farms you Ve got and the way you got ? em 
 ho! You go Old Benjamin one better, you 
 do. 
 
 "Whoso by the plow would thrive 
 Himself must neither hold nor drive. 
 
 A regular hard driver, you are!" 
 
 "Some fine day," answered Mitchell com 
 posedly, "you will exhaust my patience and I 
 shall have to let you be hanged ! " 
 
 " No fear ! " rejoined the devil clerk, amiably. 
 41 I m too useful. I do your dirty work for you 
 and leave you always with clean hands to show. 
 Who stirs up damage suits? Joe. Who digs up 
 the willing witness? J. Pelman. Who finds 
 skeletons in respectable closets? Joey. Who 
 is the go-between? Joseph. I m trusty, too 
 because I dare not be otherwise. And because 
 
IQ2 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 I like the work. I like to see you skin em, 
 I do. Fools! And because you give me a fair 
 share of the plunder. Princely, I call it and 
 wise. You be advised, Lawyer Mitchell, and 
 always give me my fair share. Hang Joey? 
 Oh, no! Never do! No fear!" A spasm of 
 chuckles cut him short. 
 
 "Go on, fool, and bring Bowen in. Then 
 tell Walters the farm is already sold." 
 
 The door closed behind the useful Joseph, 
 and immediately popped open again in the 
 most startling fashion. 
 
 "No; nor that, either," said Joseph. 
 
 He closed the door softly and leaned against 
 it, cocking his head on one side with an evil 
 smile. 
 
 His employer glanced at him with uninquir- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 "You won t ask what, hey? No? But I ll 
 tell you what you were thinking of: Dropping 
 me off the bridge. Upsetting the boat. The 
 like of that. Can t have it. I can t afford it. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 193 
 
 You re too liberal. Why, I wouldn t crawl 
 under your car to repair it or go hunting 
 with you not if it was ever so!" 
 
 "I really believe," said Mr. Mitchell with 
 surprised eyebrows, "that you are keeping me 
 waiting!" 
 
 "That is why I never throw out hints about 
 a future partnership," continued the confiden 
 tial man, undaunted. "You are such a liberal 
 paymaster. Lord love you, sir, I don t want 
 any partnership! This suits me. You furnish 
 the brains and the respectability; I take the 
 risk, and I get my fair share. Then, if I should 
 ever get caught, you are unsmirched ; you can 
 keep on making money. And you ll keep on 
 giving me my share. Oh, yes; you will! You Ve 
 such a good heart, Mr. Oscar! I know you. 
 You wouldn t want old Joey hanged! Not 
 you! Oh, no!" 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 A STRANGER came to Abingdon by the 
 -/jL morning train. Because of a wide- 
 brimmed gray hat, which he wore pushed well 
 back, to testify against burning suns elsewhere 
 where such hats must be pulled well down, 
 of necessity a few Abingdonians, in passing, 
 gave the foreigner the tribute of a backward 
 glance. A few only; Abingdon has scant time 
 for curiosity. Abingdon works hard for a liv 
 ing, like Saturday s child, three hundred and 
 sixty-five days a year; except every fourth 
 year. 
 
 Aside from the hat, the foreigner might have 
 been, for apparel, a thrifty farmer on a trip 
 to his market town. He wore a good ready- 
 made suit, a soft white shirt with a soft collar, 
 and a black tie, shot with red. But an observer 
 would have seen that this was no care-lined 
 farmer face; that, though the man himself was 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 195 
 
 small, his feet were disproportionately and ab 
 surdly small; that his toes pointed forward as 
 he walked; and detraction might have called 
 him bow-legged. This was Mr. Peter Johnson. 
 
 Mr. Johnson took breakfast at the Abing- 
 don Arms. He expressed to the landlord of 
 that hostelry a civil surprise and gratification 
 at the volume of Abingdon s business, evinced 
 by a steadily swelling current of early morn 
 ing wagons, laden with produce, on their way 
 to the station, or, by the river road, to the 
 factory towns near by; was assured that he 
 should come in the potato-hauling season if he 
 thought that was busy; parried a few polite 
 questions; and asked the way to the Selden 
 Farm. 
 
 He stayed at the Selden Farm that day and 
 that night. Afternoon of the next day found 
 him in Lawyer Mitchell s waiting-room, at 
 Vesper, immediate successor of Mr. Chauncey 
 Bowen, then engaged in Lawyer Mitchell s 
 office on the purchase of the Watkins Farm; 
 
196 - COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 and he was presently ushered into the presence 
 of Mr. Mitchell by the demon clerk. 
 
 Mr. Mitchell greeted him affably. 
 
 "Good-day, sir. What can I do for you 
 to-day?" 
 
 "Mr. Oscar Mitchell, is it?" 
 
 "The same, and happy to serve you." 
 
 "Got a letter for you from your cousin, 
 Stan. My name s Johnson." 
 
 Mitchell extended his hand, gave Pete a 
 grip of warm welcome. 
 
 "I am delighted to see you, Mr. Johnson. 
 Take a chair this big one is the most com 
 fortable. And how is Stanley? A good boy; I 
 am very fond of him. But, to be honest about 
 it, he is a wretched correspondent. I have not 
 heard from him since Christmas, and then 
 barely a line the compliments of the season. 
 What is he doing with himself? Does he pros 
 per? And why did he not come himself?" 
 
 "As far as making money is concerned, he 
 stands to make more than he ll ever need, as 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 197 
 
 you ll see when you read his letter," said Pete. 
 " Otherwise he s only just tol able. Fact is, 
 he s confined to his room. That s why I come 
 to do this business for him." 
 
 "Stanley sick? Dear, dear! What is it? 
 Nothing serious, I hope!" 
 
 "Why, no-o not to say sick, exactly. He 
 just can t seem to get out o doors very handy. 
 He s sorter on a diet, you might say." 
 
 "Too bad; too bad! He should have written 
 his friends about it. None of us knew a word 
 of it. I 11 write to him to-night and give him a 
 good scolding." 
 
 "Aw, don t ye do that!" said Pete, twisting 
 his hat in embarrassment. "I don t want he 
 should know I told you. He s he s kind of 
 sensitive about it. He would n t want it men 
 tioned to anybody." 
 
 "It s not his lungs, I hope?" 
 
 "Naw! Nothin like that. I reckon what s 
 ailin him is mostly stayin too long in one 
 place. Nothin serious. Don t ye worry one 
 
198 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 mite about him. Change of scene is what he 
 needs mare than anything else and horse 
 back ridin . I 11 yank him out of that soon as I 
 get back. And now suppose you read his letter. 
 It s mighty important to us. I forgot to tell 
 you me and Stan is pardners. And I m free to 
 say I m anxious to see how you take to his 
 proposition." 
 
 "If you will excuse me, then?" 
 
 Mitchell seated himself, opened the letter, 
 and ran over it. It was brief. Refolding it, 
 the lawyer laid it on the table before him, 
 tapped it, and considered Mr. Johnson with 
 regarding eyes. When he spoke his voice was 
 more friendly than ever. 
 
 "Stanley tells me here that you two have 
 found a very rich mine." 
 
 "Mr. Mitchell," said Pete, leaning forward 
 in his eagerness, "I reckon that mine of ours 
 is just about the richest strike ever found in 
 Arizona! Of course it ain t rightly a mine 
 it s only where a mine is goin to be. Just a 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 199 
 
 claim. There s nothin done to it yet. But it s 
 sure goin to be a crackajack. There s a whole 
 solid mountain of high-grade copper." 
 
 Stanley says he wants me to finance it. He 
 offers to refund all expenses if the mine if 
 the claim" Mitchell smiled cordially as he 
 made the correction "does not prove all he 
 represents." 
 
 "Well, that ought to make you safe. Stan s 
 got a right smart of property out there. I 
 don t know how he s fixed back here. Mr. 
 Mitchell, if you don t look into this, you 11 be 
 missin the chance of your life." 
 
 "But if the claim is so rich, why do you 
 need money?" 
 
 "You don t understand. This copper is in 
 the roughest part of an awful rough moun 
 tain right on top," said Pete, most untruth 
 fully. "That s why nobody ain t ever found it 
 before because it is so rough. It ll cost a 
 heap of money just to build a wagon road up 
 to it as much as five or six thousand dollars, 
 
200 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 maybe. Stan and me can t handle it alone. 
 We got to take some one in, and we gave you 
 the first show. And I wish/ said Pete ner 
 vously, "that you could see your way to come 
 in with us and go right back with me, at once. 
 We re scared somebody else might find it and 
 make a heap of trouble. There s some mighty 
 mean men out there." 
 
 "Have a cigar?" said the lawyer, opening a 
 desk drawer. 
 
 He held a match for his visitor and observed, 
 with satisfaction, that Pete s hand shook. 
 Plainly here was a simple-minded person who 
 would be as wax in his skillful hands. 
 
 Mitchell smoked for a little while in thought 
 ful silence. Then, with his best straightfor 
 ward look, he turned and faced Pete across 
 the table. 
 
 "I will be plain with you, Mr. Johnson. 
 This is a most unusual adventure for me. I am 
 a man who rather prides himself that he makes 
 no investments that are not conservative. But 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 201 
 
 Stan is my cousin, and he has always been the 
 soul of honor. His word is good with me. I 
 may even make bold to say that you, yourself, 
 have impressed me favorably. In short, you 
 may consider me committed to a thorough in 
 vestigation of your claim. After that, we shall 
 
 see." 
 
 " You 11 never regret it," said Pete. "Shake! " 
 
 "I suppose you are not commissioned to 
 make any definite proposal as to terms, in 
 case the investigation terminates as favorably 
 as you anticipate? At any rate, this is an 
 early day to speak of final adjustments." 
 
 "No," said Pete, "I ain t. You 11 have to 
 settle that with Stan. Probably you ll want 
 to sign contracts and things. I don t know 
 nothin about law. But there s plenty for all. 
 I m sure of one thing you ll be glad to 
 throw in with us on most any terms once you 
 see that copper, and have a lot of assays made 
 and get your expert s report on it." 
 
 "I hope so, I am sure. Stanley seems very 
 
202 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 confident. But I fear I shall have to disappoint 
 you in one particular: I can hardly leave my 
 business here at loose ends and go back with 
 you at once, as, I gather, is your desire." 
 
 Pete s face fell. 
 
 "How long will it take you?" 
 
 "Let me consider. I shall have to arrange 
 for other lawyers to appear for me in cases now 
 pending, which will imply lengthy consulta 
 tions and crowded days. It will be very incon 
 venient and may not have the happiest results. 
 But I will do the best I can to meet your wishes, 
 and will stretch a point in your favor, hoping 
 it may be remembered when we come to dis 
 cuss final terms with each other. Shall we say 
 a week?" He tapped his knuckles with the 
 folded letter and added carelessly: "And, of 
 course, I shall have to pack, and all that. You 
 must advise me as to suitable clothing for 
 roughing it. How far is your mine from the 
 railroad?" 
 
 "Oh, not far. About forty mile. Yes, I 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 203 
 
 guess I can wait a week. I stand the hotel 
 grub pretty well." 
 
 "Where are you staying, Mr. Johnson? " 
 "The Algonquin. Pretty nifty." 
 "Good house. And how many days is it by 
 rail to Bless my soul, Mr. Johnson here 
 am I, upsetting my staid life, deserting my 
 business on what may very well prove, after 
 all, but a wild-goose chase! And I do not know 
 to what place in Arizona we are bound, even 
 as a starting-point and base of supplies, much 
 less where your mine is! And I don t suppose 
 there s a map of Arizona in town." 
 
 "Oh, I ll make you a map," said Pete. 
 " Cobre that s Mexican for copper is 
 where we ll make our headquarters. You 
 give me some paper and I 11 make you a 
 map mighty quick." 
 
 Pete made a sketchy but fairly accurate map 
 of Southern Arizona, with the main lines of 
 railroad and the branches. 
 
 "Here s Silverbell, at the end of this little 
 
204 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 spur of railroad. Now give me that other 
 sheet of paper and I ll show you where the 
 mine is, and the country round Cobre." 
 
 Wetting his pencil, working with slow and 
 painstaking effort, making slight erasures and 
 corrections with loving care, poor, trustful, 
 unsuspecting Pete mapped out, with true 
 creative joy, a district that never was on land 
 or sea, accompanying each stroke of his handi 
 work with verbal comments, explaining each 
 original mountain chain or newly invented 
 valley with a wealth of descriptive detail that 
 would have amazed Miinchausen. 
 
 Mitchell laughed in his heart to see how 
 readily the simple-minded mountaineer be 
 came his dupe and tool, and watched, with a 
 covert sneer, as Pete joyously contrived his 
 own downfall and undoing. 
 
 " I have many questions to ask about your 
 mine I believe I had almost said our mine." 
 The lawyer smiled cordially. "To begin with, 
 how about water and fuel?" 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 205 
 
 11 Lots of it. A cedar brake, checker- boarded 
 all along the mountain. There s where it gets 
 the name, Ajedrez Mountain Chess Moun 
 tain; kind of laid out in squares that way. 
 Good enough for mine timbers, too. Big 
 spring big enough so you might almost 
 call it a creek right close by. It s almost 
 too good to be true could n t be handier if 
 I d dreamed it! But," he added with regretful 
 conscientiousness, "the water s pretty hard, 
 I m sorry to say. Most generally is, around 
 copper that way. And it ll have to be pumped 
 uphill to the mine. Too bad the spring 
 could n t have been above the mine, so it could 
 have been piped down." 
 
 Prompted by more questions he plunged 
 into a glowing description of Ajedrez Moun 
 tain; the marvelous scope of country to be 
 seen from the summit; the beauty of its steep 
 and precipitous canons; the Indian pottery; 
 the mysterious deposit of oyster shells, high 
 on the mountain-side, proving conclusively 
 
206 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 that Ajedrez Mountain had risen from the 
 depths of some prehistoric sea; ending with a 
 vivid description of the obstacles to be sur 
 mounted by each of the alternate projects for 
 the wagon road up to the mine, with estimates 
 of comparative cost. 
 
 At length it drew on to the hour for 
 Mitchell s dinner and Pete s supper, and they 
 parted with many expressions of elation and 
 good- will. 
 
 From his window in the Algonquin, Pete 
 Johnson watched Mitchell picking his way 
 across to the Iroquois House, and smiled grimly. 
 
 1 There," he confided to his pipe " there 
 goes a man hotfoot to dig his own grave with 
 his own tongue ! The Selden kid has done told 
 Uncle McClintock about Stan being in jail. 
 She told him Stan had n t written to Cousin 
 Oscar about no jail, and that I was n t to tell 
 him either. Now goes Cousin Oscar on a bee- 
 line to tell Uncle how dreadful Stanley has 
 went and disgraced the family; and Uncle will 
 want to know how he heard of it. Why/ sayp 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 207 
 
 Oscar, an old ignoramus from Arizona, named 
 Johnson friend of Stanley s he told me 
 about it. He came up here to get me to help 
 Stanley out; wanted me to go out and be his 
 lawyer! 
 
 "And, right there, down goes Cousin Oscar s 
 meat-house! He ll never touch a penny of 
 Uncle s moaey. Selden, she says Uncle Mac 
 was all for blowing him up sky-high; but she 
 made him promise not to, so as not to queer 
 my game. If I get Oscar Mitchell out to the 
 desert, I 11 almost persuade him to be a Chris 
 tian. . . . She s got Old McClintock on the run, 
 Mary Selden has! 
 
 "Shucks! The minute I heard about the 
 millionaire uncle, I knowed where Stan s 
 trouble began. I wonder what makes Stan 
 such a fool! He might a knowed! . . . This 
 Oscar person is pretty soft. . . . Mighty nice 
 kid, little Selden is! Smart too. She s some 
 schemer! . . . Too smart for Oscar! . . . Differ 
 ent complected, and all that; but her ways 
 she sort of puts me in mind of Miss Sally." 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 MR. OSCAR MITCHELL was a bachelor, 
 though not precisely lorn. He main 
 tained an elm-shaded residence on Front Street, 
 presided over by an ancient housekeeper, of 
 certain and gusty disposition, who had guided 
 his first toddling steps and grieved with him 
 for childhood s insupportable wrongs, and 
 whose vinegarish disapprovals were still feared 
 by Mitchell; it was for her praise or blame that 
 his overt walk and conversation were austere 
 and godly, his less laudable activities so mole- 
 like. 
 
 After dinner Mr. Mitchell slipped into a 
 smoking jacket with a violent velvet lining and 
 sat in his den a den bedecorated after the 
 manner known to the muddle-minded as 
 artistic, but more aptly described by Sir An 
 thony Gloster as "beastly." To this den came 
 now the sprightly clerk, summoned by tele 
 phone. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 209 
 
 "Sit down, Pelman. I sent for you because 
 I desire your opinion and cooperation upon a 
 matter of the first importance," said the law 
 yer, using his most gracious manner. 
 
 Mr. Joseph Pelman, pricking up his eara 
 at the smooth conciliation of eye and voice, 
 warily circled the room, holding Mitchell s 
 eyes as he went, selected a corner chair for 
 obvious strategic reasons, pushed it against the 
 wall, tapped that wall apprehensively with a 
 backward-reaching hand, seated himself stiffly 
 upon the extreme edge of the chair, and faced 
 his principal, bolt upright and bristling with 
 deliberate insolence. 
 
 "If it is murder I want a third," he re 
 marked. 
 
 The lawyer gloomed upon this frowardness. 
 
 "That is a poor way to greet an opportu 
 nity to make your fortune once and for all," 
 he said. "I have something on hand now, 
 which, if we can swing it " 
 
 "One-third," said the clerk inflexibly. 
 
210 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 Mitchell controlled himself with a visible 
 effort. He swallowed hard and began again: 
 
 " If we can carry out my plan successfully 
 and it seems to be safe, and certain, and almost 
 free from risk there will be no necessity here 
 after for any of us to engage in any crooked 
 dealings whatever. Indeed, to take up cleanly 
 ways would be the part of wisdom. Or, young 
 as you are, you will be able to retire, if you 
 prefer, sure of every gratification that money 
 can buy." 
 
 "Necessity does n t make me a crook. I m 
 crooked by nature. I like crookedness," said 
 Pelman. That s why I m with you. " 
 
 "Now, Joey, don t talk" 
 
 "Don t you Joey me!" exploded the de 
 mon clerk. " It was fool this afternoon. I m 
 Pelman when there s any nerve needed for 
 your schemes; but when you smile at me and 
 call me Joey, what I say is one-third!" 
 
 "You devil! I ought to wring your neck!" 
 
 "Try it! I ll stab your black heart with a 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 21 1 
 
 corkscrew! I ve studied it all out, and I ve 
 carried a corkscrew on purpose ever since I Ve 
 known you. Thirty- three and one- third per 
 cent. Three-ninths. Proceed!" 
 
 Mitchell paced the floor for a few furious 
 seconds before he began again. 
 
 You remember Mayer Zurich, whom we 
 helped through that fake bankruptcy at Syra 
 cuse?" 
 
 "Three-ninths?" 
 
 "Yes, damn you!" 
 
 Joey settled back in his chair, crossed his 
 knees comfortably, screwed his face to round- 
 eyed innocence, and gave a dainty caress to 
 the thin silky line of black on his upper lip. 
 
 "You may go on, Oscar," he drawled pat 
 ronizingly. 
 
 After another angry turn, Mitchell resumed 
 with forced composure: 
 
 "Zurich is now a fixture in Cobre, Arizona, 
 where my Cousin Stanley lives. I had a letter 
 from him a week ago and he tells me this 
 
212 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 is in strict confidence, mind you that poor 
 Stanley is in jail." 
 
 Joey interrupted him by a gentle waving of 
 a deprecatory hand. 
 
 "Save your breath, Oscar dear, and pass on 
 to the main proposition. Now that we are 
 partners, in manner of speaking, since your 
 generous concession of a few minutes past 
 about the thirds I must be very considerate 
 of you." 
 
 As if to mark the new dignity, the junior 
 partner dropped the crude and boisterous 
 phrases that had hitherto marked his converse. 
 Mitchell recognized the subtle significance of 
 this change by an angry gesture. 
 
 "Since our interests are now one," continued 
 the new member suavely, "propriety seems to 
 demand that I should tell you the Mitchell- 
 Zurich affair has no secrets from me. If young 
 Stanley is in prison, it is because you put him 
 there!" 
 
 "What!" 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 213 
 
 "Yes," said Joey with a complacent stroke 
 at his upper lip. " I have duplicate keys to all 
 your dispatch boxes and filing cabinets." 
 
 "You fiend!" 
 
 " I wished to protect you against any temp 
 tation toward ingratitude," explained Joey. "I 
 have been, on the whole, much entertained 
 by your correspondence. There was much 
 chaff that was to be expected. But there 
 was also some precious grain which I have gar 
 nered with care. For instance, I have copies 
 of all Zurich s letters to you. You have been 
 endeavoring to ruin your cousin, fearing that 
 McClintock might relent and remember Stan 
 ley in his will; you have succeeded at last. 
 Whatever new villainy you have to propose, 
 it now should be easier to name it, since you 
 are relieved from the necessity of beating 
 round the bush. You were saying ?" 
 
 "Stanley has found a mine, a copper de 
 posit of fabulous richness; so he writes, and so 
 Zurich assures me. Zurich has had a sample 
 
214 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 of it assayed ; he does not know where the de 
 posit is located, but hopes to find it before 
 Stanley or Stanley s partner can get secure 
 possession. Zurich wants me to put up cash 
 to finance the search and the early develop 
 
 ment." 
 
 "Well? Where do I come in? I am no miner, 
 and I have no cash. I am eating husks. " 
 
 " You listen. Singularly enough, Stanley has 
 sent his partner up here to make me exactly 
 the same proposition." 
 
 "That was Stan s partner to-day that 
 old gray goat?" 
 
 "Exactly. So, you see, I have two chances." 
 
 " I need not ask you," said Joey with a sage 
 nod, " whether you intend to throw in your lot 
 with the thieves or with the honest men. You 
 will flock with the thieves." 
 
 "I will," said Mitchell grimly. "My cousin 
 had quite supplanted me with my so-called 
 Uncle McClintock. The old dotard would 
 have left him every cent, except for that calf- 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 215 
 
 love affair of Stan s with the Selden girl. Some 
 reflections on the girl s character had come to 
 McClmtock s ears." 
 
 "Mitchell," said Joey, "before God, you 
 make me sick!" 
 
 "What s the matter with you now, fool?" 
 demanded Mitchell. " I never so much as men 
 tioned the girl s name in McClintock s hear 
 ing. 1 
 
 "Trust you!" said the clerk. "You re a 
 slimy toad, you are. You re nauseatin . Pah! 
 Ptth!" 
 
 "McClintock repeated these rumors to 
 Stan," said the lawyer gloatingly. "Stan 
 called him a liar. My uncle never liked me. It 
 is very doubtful if he leaves me more than a 
 moderate bequest, even now. But I have at 
 least made sure that he leaves nothing to Stan. 
 And now I shall strip his mine from him and 
 leave him to rot in the penitentiary. For I al 
 ways hated him, quite aside from any thought 
 of my uncle s estate. I hate him for what he 
 
216 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 is. I always wanted to trample his girl-face in 
 the mire." 
 
 " Leave your chicken-curses and come to 
 the point," urged the junior member of the 
 firm impatiently. "It is no news to me that 
 your brain is diseased and your heart rotten. 
 What is it you want me to do? Calm your 
 self, you white-livered maniac. I gather that 
 I am in some way to meddle with this mine. 
 If I but had your head for my very own along 
 with the sand in my craw, I d tell you to go to 
 hell. Having only brains enough to know what 
 I am, I m cursed by having to depend upon 
 you. Name your corpse! Come through!" 
 
 "You shut your foul mouth and listen. 
 You throw me off." 
 
 "Give me a cigar, then. Thanks. I await 
 your pleasure." 
 
 "Zurich warned me that Stanley s partner, 
 this old man Johnson, had gone East and 
 would in all probability come here to bring 
 proposals from Stan. He came yesterday, 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 217 
 
 bearing a letter of introduction from Stan. 
 The fear that I would not close with his propo 
 sition had the poor old gentleman on needles 
 and pins. But I fell in with his offer. I won 
 his confidence and within the hour he had 
 turned himself wrong side out. He made me 
 a map, which shows me how to find the mine. 
 He thinks I am to go to Arizona with him in 
 a week poor idiot! Instead, you are to get 
 him into jail at once." 
 
 "Hew?" 
 
 "The simplest and most direct way possible. 
 You have that Poole tribe under your thumb, 
 have you not?" 
 
 "Bootlegging, chicken-stealing, sneak-thiev 
 ing, arson, and perjury. And they are ripe for 
 any deviltry, without compulsion. All I need 
 to do is to show them a piece of money and 
 give instructions." 
 
 "Get the two biggest ones, then Amos 
 and Seth. Have them pick a fight with the 
 man Johnson and swear him into jail. They 
 
218 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 need n t hurt him much and they need n t 
 bother about provocation. All they need to do 
 is to contrive to get him in some quiet spot, 
 beat him up decently, and swear that John 
 son started the row without warning; that 
 they never saw him before, and that they think 
 he was drunk. Manage so that Johnson sees 
 the inside of the jail by to-morrow at luncheon- 
 time, or just after, at worst; then you and I 
 will take the afternoon train for Arizona 
 with my map. I have just returned from in 
 forming my beloved uncle of Stanley s igno 
 minious situation, and I told him I could go to 
 the rescue at once, for the sake of the family 
 honor. I thought the old fool would threw 
 a fit, he was so enraged. So, good-bye to 
 Nephew Stanley!" 
 
 "Look here, Mr. Oscar; that s no good, you 
 know," remonstrated Pelman. "What s the 
 good of throwing Johnson into jail for five or 
 ten days or perhaps only a fine? He may 
 even have letters from Stan to some one else 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 219 
 
 in Vesper, some one influential; he may beat 
 the case. He 11 be out there in no time, mak 
 ing you trouble. That old goat looks as if he 
 might butt." 
 
 Mitchell smiled. 
 
 "That s only half my plan. The jailer is 
 also one of your handy men. I ll furnish you 
 plenty of money for the Pooles and for the 
 jailer enough to make it well worth their 
 while. Contrive a faked rescue of Johnson. 
 The jailer can be found trussed up and gagged, 
 to-morrow about midnight. Best have only 
 one of the Pooles in it; take Amos. He shall 
 wear a mask and be the bold rescuer; he shall 
 open the cell door, whisper Mitchell to John 
 son, and help him escape. Once out, without 
 taking off his mask, Amos can hide Johnson 
 somewhere. I leave you to perfect these de 
 tails. Then, after discarding his mask, Poole 
 can give the alarm. It is immaterial whether 
 he rouses the undersheriff or finds a policeman; 
 but he is to give information that he has just 
 
220 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 seen Johnson at liberty, skulking near such- 
 and-such a place. Such information, from a 
 man so recently the victim of a wanton assault 
 at Johnson s hands, will seem a natural act." 
 
 "Mr. Mitchell, you re a wonder !" declared 
 Joey in a fine heat of admiration. As the law 
 yer unfolded his plan the partner-clerk, as a 
 devotee of cunning, found himself convicted 
 of comparative unworth; with every sentence 
 he deported himself less like Pelman the part 
 ner, shrank more and more to Joey the devil 
 clerk. "The first part of your programme 
 sounded Jike amateur stuff; but the second 
 number is a scream. Any mistreated guy 
 would fall for that. I would, myself. He ll 
 be up against it for jail-breaking, conspiracy, 
 assaulting an officer, using deadly weapons 
 and the best is, he will actually be guilty and 
 have no kick coming! Look what a head that 
 is of yours! Even if he should escape rearrest 
 here, it will be a case for extradition. If he 
 goes back to Arizona, he will be nabbed; our 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 221 
 
 worthy sheriff will be furious at the insult to 
 his authority and will make every effort to 
 gather Mr. Johnson in. Either way you have 
 Johnson off your shoulders." 
 
 " Stanley is off my shoulders, too, and good 
 for a nice long term. And I have full direc 
 tions for reaching Stanley s mine. You and I, 
 in that wild Arizona country, would not know 
 our little way about; we will be wholly de 
 pendent upon Zurich; and, therefore, we must 
 share our map with him. But, on the whole, I 
 think I have managed rather well than other 
 wise. It may be, after this bonanza is safely 
 in our hands, that we may be able to discover 
 some ultimate wizardry of finance which shall 
 deal with Zurich s case. We shall see." 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 MR. FRANCIS CHARLES BOLAND, 
 propped up on one elbow, sprawled 
 upon a rug spread upon the grass under a 
 giant willow tree at Mitchell House, deep in 
 the Chronicles of Sir John Froissart. Mr. Fer 
 dinand Sedgwick tiptoed unheard across the 
 velvet sward. He prodded Frances Charles 
 with his toe. 
 
 "Ouch!" said Francis Charles. 
 
 " You 11 catch your death of cold. Get up! 
 Your company is desired. " 
 
 "Go way!" 
 
 "Miss Dexter wants you." 
 
 "Don t, either. She was coiled in the ham 
 mock ten minutes ago. Wearing a criminal 
 neglige. Picturesque, but not posing. She 
 slept; I heard her snore." 
 
 "She s awake now and wants you to make a 
 fourth at bridge; you two against Elsie and 
 
 me." 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 223 
 "Botheration! Tell her you couldn t find 
 
 me." 
 
 "I would hush the voice of conscience and 
 do your bidding gladly, old thing, if it lay 
 within the sphere of practical politics. But, 
 unfortunately, she saw you." 
 
 "Tell her to go to the devil!" 
 
 Ferdie considered this proposition and re 
 jected it with regret. 
 
 "She would n t do it. But you go on with 
 your reading. I ll tell her you re disgruntled. 
 She ll understand. This will make the fourth 
 day that you have n t taken your accustomed 
 stroll by the schoolhouse. We re all interested, 
 Frankie." 
 
 "You banshee!" Francis withdrew the fin 
 ger that had been keeping his place in the 
 book. "I suppose I ll have to go back with 
 you." He sat up, rather red as to his face. 
 
 " I bet she turned you down hard, old boy," 
 murmured Mr. Sedgwick sympathetically. 
 "My own life has been very sad. It has been 
 
224 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 blighted forever, several times. Is she pretty? 
 I have n t seen her, myself, and the reports of 
 the men-folks and the young ladies don t tally. 
 Funny thing, but scientific observation shows 
 that when a girl says another girl is fine-look 
 ing Hully Gee! And vice versa. Eh? What 
 say?" 
 
 " Did n t say anything. You probably over 
 heard me thinking. If so, I beg your pardon." 
 
 "I saw a fine old Western gentleman drive 
 by here with old man Selden yesterday 
 looked like a Westerner, anyhow; big som 
 brero, leather face, and all that. I hope," said 
 Ferdie anxiously, "that it was not this vener 
 able gentleman who put you on the blink. He 
 was a fine old relic ; but he looked rather patri 
 archal for the role of Lochinvar. Unless, of 
 course, he has the money." 
 
 "Yes, he s a Western man, all right. I met 
 them on the Vesper Bridge," replied Boland 
 absently, ignoring the banter. He got to his 
 feet and spoke with dreamy animation. " Fer- 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 225 
 
 die, that chap made me feel homesick with 
 just one look at him. Best time I ever had was 
 with that sort. Younger men I was running 
 with, of course. Fine chaps; splendidly edu 
 cated and perfect gentlemen when sober 
 I quote from an uncredited quotation from a 
 copy of an imitation of a celebrated plagiarist. 
 Would go back there and stay and stay, only 
 for the lady mother. She s used to the city. 
 ... By the waters of Babylon we sat down 
 and wept." 
 
 "Hi!" said Ferdie. "Party yellin at you 
 from the road. Come out of your trance." 
 
 Francis Charles looked up. A farmer had 
 stopped his team by the front gate. 
 
 "Mr. Boland!" he trumpeted through his 
 hands. 
 
 Boland answered the hail and started for 
 the gate, Ferdie following; the agriculturist 
 flourished a letter, dropped it in the R.F.Do 
 box, and drove on. 
 
 "Oh, la, la! The thick plottens!" observed 
 Ferdie. 
 
226 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 Francis Charles tore open the letter, read it 
 hastily, and turned with sparkling eyes to his 
 friend. His friend, for his part, sighed pro 
 foundly. 
 
 " Oh Francis, Francis!" he chided. 
 
 "Here, you howling idiot; read it!" said 
 Francis. 
 
 The idiot took the letter and read: 
 
 DEAR MR. BOLAND: I need your help. Mr. 
 Johnson, a friend of Stanley s his best friend 
 is up here from Arizona upon business of the ut 
 most importance, both to himself and Stanley. 
 
 I have only this moment had word that Mr. 
 Johnson is in the most serious trouble. To be plain, 
 he is in Vesper Jail. There has been foul play, 
 part and parcel of a conspiracy directed against 
 Stanley. Please come at once. I claim your 
 promise. 
 
 MARY SELDEN 
 
 Ferdie handed it back. 
 
 "My friend s friend is my friend? And so 
 on, ad infinitum, like fleas with little fleas to 
 bite em that sort of thing what? Does 
 that let me in? I seem to qualify in a small- 
 flealike way." 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 227 
 
 "You bet you do, old chap! That s the 
 spirit! Do you rush up and present my pro 
 found apologies to the ladies important 
 business matter. I 11 be getting out the buzz 
 wagon. You shall see Mary Selden. You shall 
 also see how right well and featly our no-bel 
 and intrepid young hero bore himself, just 
 a-pitchin and a-rarin , when inclination jibed 
 with jooty!" 
 
 Two minutes later they took the curve by 
 the big gate on two wheels. As they straight 
 ened into the river road, Mr. Sedgwick spread 
 one hand over his heart, rolled his eyes heaven 
 ward, and observed with fine dramatic effect: 
 
 ." I claim your pr-r-r-r-omise ! " 
 
 Mr. Johnson sat in a cell of Vesper Jail, 
 charged with assault and battery in the nth 
 degree; drunk and disorderly understood, but 
 that charge unpref erred as yet. It is no part of 
 legal method to bring one accused of intoxica 
 tion before the magistrate at once, so that the 
 
228 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 judicial mind may see for itself. By this capi 
 tal arrangement, the justly intoxicated may 
 be acquitted for lack of convincing evidence, 
 after they have had time to sober up; while 
 the unjustly accused, who should go free on 
 sight, are at the mercy of such evidence as the 
 unjust accuser sees fit to bring or send. 
 
 The Messrs. Poole had executed their com 
 mission upon Vesper Bridge, pouncing upon 
 Mr. Johnson as he passed between them, all 
 unsuspecting. They might well have failed 
 in their errand, however, had it not been that 
 Mr. Johnson was, in a manner of speaking, in 
 dishabille, having left his gun at the hotel. 
 Even so, he improvised several new lines and 
 some effective stage business before he was 
 overpowered by numbers and weight. 
 
 The brothers Poole were regarded with 
 much disfavor by Undersheriff Barton, who 
 made the arrest; but their appearance bore 
 out their story. It was plain that some one 
 had battered them. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 229 
 
 Mr. Johnson quite won the undersheriff s 
 esteem by his seemly bearing after the arrest. 
 He accepted the situation with extreme com 
 posure, exhibiting small rancor toward his 
 accusers, refraining from counter-comment to 
 their heated descriptive analysis of himself; he 
 troubled himself to make no denials. 
 
 " I 11 tell my yarn to the judge," he said, and 
 walked to jail with his captors in friendliest 
 fashion. 
 
 These circumstances, coupled with the dep 
 uty s experienced dislike for the complain 
 ing witnesses and a well-grounded unofficial 
 joy at their battered state, won favor for the 
 prisoner. The second floor of the jail was 
 crowded with a noisy and noisome crew. 
 Johnson was taken to the third floor, unten- 
 anted save for himself, and ushered into a quiet 
 and pleasant corner cell, whence he might 
 solace himself by a view of the street and the 
 courthouse park. Further, the deputy minis 
 tered to Mr. Johnson s hurts with water and 
 
230 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 court-plaster, and a beefsteak applied to a 
 bruised and swollen eye. He volunteered his 
 good offices as a witness in the moot matter of 
 intoxication and in all ways gave him treat 
 ment befitting a n honored guest. 
 
 "Now, what else?" he said. "You can t 
 get a hearing until to-morrow; the justice of 
 the peace is out of town. Do you know any 
 body here? Can you give bail? " 
 
 "Ya-as, I reckon so. But I won t worry 
 about that till to-morrow. Night in jail don t 
 hurt any one." 
 
 "If I can do anything for you, don t hesi 
 tate to ask." 
 
 "Thank you kindly, I ll take you up on 
 that. Just let me think up a little." 
 
 The upshot of his considerations was that 
 the jailer carried to a tailor s shop Johnson s 
 coat and vest, sadly mishandled during the 
 brief affray on the bridge; the deputy dis 
 patched a messenger to the Selden Farm with 
 a note for Miss Mary Selden, and also made 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 231 
 
 diligent inquiry as to Mr. Oscar Mitchell, re 
 porting that Mr. Mitchell had taken the west 
 bound flyer at four o clock, together with Mr. 
 Pelman, his clerk; both taking tickets to El 
 Paso. 
 
 Later, a complaisant jailer brought to Pete 
 a goodly supper from the Algonquin, clean 
 bedding, cigars, magazines, and a lamp the 
 last item contrary to rule. He chatted with 
 his prisoner during supper, cleared away the 
 dishes, locked the cell door, with a cheerful 
 wish for good night, and left Pete with his 
 reflections. 
 
 Pete had hardly got to sleep when he was 
 wakened by a queer, clinking noise. He sat up 
 in the bed and listened. 
 
 The sound continued. It seemed to come 
 from the window, from which the sash had 
 been removed because of July heat. Pete went 
 to investigate. He found, black and startling 
 against the starlight beyond, a small rubber 
 balloon, such as children love, bobbing up and 
 
232 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 down across the window; tied to it was a del 
 icate silk fishline, which furnished the motive 
 power. As this was pulled in or paid out the 
 balloon scraped by the window, and a pocket- 
 size cigar clipper, tied beneath at the end of a 
 six-inch string, tinkled and scratched on the 
 iron bars. Pete lit his lamp; the little balloon 
 at once became stationary. 
 
 "This," said Pete, grinning hugely, "is the 
 doings of that Selden kid. She is certainly 
 one fine small person!" 
 
 Pete turned the lamp low and placed it on 
 the floor at his feet, so that it should not un 
 duly shape him against the window; he pulled 
 gently on the line. It gave; a guarded whistle 
 came softly from the dark shadow of the jail. 
 Pete detached the captive balloon, with a bless 
 ing, and pulled in the fishline. Knotted to it 
 was a stout cord, and in the knot was a small 
 piece of paper, rolled cigarette fashion. Pete 
 untied the knot; he dropped his coil of fishline 
 out of the window, first securing the stronger 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 233 
 
 cord by a turn round his hand lest he should 
 inadvertently drop that as well; he held the 
 paper to the light, and read the message: 
 
 Waiting for you, with car, two blocks north. 
 Destroy MS. 
 
 Pete pulled up the cord, hand over hand, 
 and was presently rewarded by a small hack 
 saw, eminently suited for cutting bars; he 
 drew in the slack again and this time came to 
 the end of the cord, to which was fastened a 
 strong rope. He drew this up noiselessly and 
 laid the coils on the floor. Then he penciled a 
 note, in turn: 
 
 Clear out. Will join you later. 
 
 He tied this missive on his cord, together 
 with the cigar clipper, and lowered them from 
 the window. There was a signaling tug at the 
 cord; Pete dropped it. 
 
 Pete dressed himself; he placed a chair 
 under the window; then he extinguished the 
 lamp, took the saw, and prepared to saw out 
 
234 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 the bars. But it was destined to be other 
 wise. Even as he raised the saw, he stiffened 
 in his tracks, listening; his blood tingled to 
 his finger tips. He heard a footstep on the 
 stair, faint, guarded, but unmistakable. It 
 came on, slowly, stealthily. 
 
 Pete thrust saw and rope under his mattress 
 and flung himself upon it, all dressed as he 
 was, face to the wall, with one careless arm 
 under his head, just as if he had dropped asleep 
 unawares. 
 
 A few seconds later came a little click, 
 startling to tense nerves, at the cell door; a 
 slender shaft of light lanced the darkness, 
 spreading to a mellow cone of radiance. It 
 searched and probed; it rested upon the silent 
 figure on the bed. 
 
 "Sh-h-h!" said a sibilant whisper. 
 
 Peter muttered, rolled over uneasily, opened 
 his eyes and leaped up, springing aside from 
 that golden circle of light in well-simulated 
 alarm. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 235 
 
 "Hush-h!" said the whisper. "I m going 
 to let you out. Be quiet!" 
 
 Keys jingled softly in the dark; the lock 
 turned gently and the door opened. In that 
 brief flash of time Pete Johnson noted that 
 there had been no hesitation about which key 
 to use. His thought flew to the kindly under- 
 sheriff. His hand swept swiftly over the table; 
 a match crackled. 
 
 " Smoke?" said Pete, extending the box with 
 graceful courtesy. 
 
 "Fool!" snarled the visitor, and struck out 
 the match. 
 
 But Pete had seen. The undersheriff was a 
 man of medium stature; this large masked 
 person was about the size of the larger of his 
 lately made acquaintances, the brothers Poole. 
 
 "Come on!" whispered the rescuer huskily. 
 " Mitchell sent me. He ll take you away in his 
 car." 
 
 "Wait a minute! We d just as well take 
 these cigars," answered Pete in the same 
 
236 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 slinking tone. " Here; take a handful. How d 
 you get in?" 
 
 "Held the jailer up with a gun. Got him 
 tied and gagged. Shut up, will you? You can 
 talk when you get safe out of this." He tip 
 toed away, Pete following. The quivering 
 searchlight crept along the hall ; it picked out 
 the stairs. Halfway down, Pete touched his 
 guide on the shoulder. 
 
 "Wait!" Standing on the higher stair, he 
 whispered in the larger man s ear: "You got 
 all the keys?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Give em to me. I ll let all the prisoners 
 go. If there s an alarm, it ll make our chances 
 for a get-away just so much better." 
 
 The Samaritan hesitated. 
 
 "Aw, I d like to, all right! But I guess we d 
 better not." 
 
 He started on; the stair creaked horribly. 
 In the hall below Pete overtook him and halted 
 him again. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 237 
 
 "Aw, come on be a sport!" he urged. 
 "Just open this one cell, here, and give that 
 lad the keys. He can do the rest while we beat 
 it. If you was in there, would n t you want to 
 get out?" 
 
 This appeal had its effect on the Samaritan. 
 He unlocked the cell door, after a cautious 
 trying of half a dozen keys. Apparently his 
 scruples returned again; he stood irresolute in 
 the cell doorway, turning the searchlight on its 
 yet unawakened occupant. 
 
 Peter swooped down from behind. His 
 hands gripped the rescuer s ankles; he heaved 
 swiftly, at the same time lunging forward with 
 head and shoulders, with all the force of his 
 small, seasoned body behind the effort. The 
 Samaritan toppled over, sprawling on his face 
 within the cell. With a heartfelt shriek the 
 legal occupant leaped from his bunk and 
 landed on the intruder s shoulder blades. 
 Peter slammed shut the door; the spring lock 
 clicked. 
 
238 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 The searchlight rolled, luminous, along the 
 floor; its glowworm light showed Poole s un 
 masked and twisted face. Pete snatched the 
 bunch of keys and raced up the stairs, bending 
 low to avoid a possible bullet; followed by dis 
 approving words. 
 
 At the stairhead, beyond the range of a 
 bullet s flight, Peter paused. Pandemonium 
 reigned below. The roused prisoners shouted 
 rage, alarm, or joy, and whistled shrilly 
 through their fingers, wild with excitement; 
 and from the violated cell arose a prodigious 
 crash of thudding fists, the smashing of a 
 splintered chair, the sickening impact of locked 
 bodies falling against the stone walls or upon 
 the complaining bunk, accompanied by ver 
 biage, and also by rattling of iron doors, hoots, 
 cheers and catcalls from the other cells. Au 
 thority made no sign. 
 
 Peter crouched in the darkness above, smil 
 ing happily. From the duration of the conflict 
 the combatants seemed to be equally matched. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 239 
 
 But the roar of battle grew presently feebler; 
 curiosity stilled the audience, at least in part; 
 it became evident, by language and the sound 
 of tortured and whistling breath, that Poole 
 was choking his opponent into submission and 
 offering profuse apologies for his disturbance 
 of privacy. Mingled with this explanation 
 were derogatory opinions of some one, deliv 
 ered with extraordinary bitterness. From the 
 context it would seem that those remarks 
 were meant to apply to Peter Johnson. Lis 
 tening intently, Peter seemed to hear from the 
 first floor a feeble drumming, as of one beating 
 the floor with bound feet. Then the tumult 
 broke out afresh. 
 
 Peter went back to his cell and lit his lamp. 
 Leaving the door wide open, he coiled the rope 
 neatly and placed it upon his table, laid the 
 hacksaw beside it, undressed himself, blew out 
 the light; and so lay down to pleasant dreams. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 MR. JOHNSON was rudely wakened 
 from his slumbers by a violent hand 
 upon his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he 
 smiled up into the scowling face of Under- 
 sheriff Barton. 
 
 " Good-morning, sheriff," he said, and sat 
 up, yawning. 
 
 The sun was shining brightly. Mr. Johnson 
 reached for his trousers and yawned again. 
 
 The scandalized sheriff was unable to reply. 
 He had been summoned by passers-by, who, 
 hearing the turbulent clamor for breakfast 
 made by the neglected prisoners, had hastened 
 to give the alarm. He had found the jailer 
 tightly bound, almost choked by his gag, suf 
 fering so cruelly from cramps that he could not 
 get up when released, and barely able to utter 
 the word "Johnson." 
 
 Acting on that hint, Barton had rushed up- 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 241 
 
 stairs, ignoring the shouts of his mutinous 
 prisoners as he went through the second-floor 
 corridor, to find on the third floor an opened cell, 
 with a bunch of keys hanging in the door, the 
 rope and saw upon the table, Mr. Johnson s 
 neatly folded clothing on the chair, and Mr. 
 Johnson peacefully asleep. The sheriff pointed 
 to the rope and saw, and choked, spluttering in 
 articulate noises. Mr. Johnson suspended dress 
 ing operations and patted him on the back. 
 
 "There, there! " he crooned benevolently. 
 "Take it easy. What s the trouble? I hate to 
 see you all worked up like this, for you was 
 sure mighty white to me yesterday. Nicest 
 jail I ever was in. But there was a thunder 
 ing racket downstairs last night. I ain t com- 
 plainin none I would n t be that ungrate 
 ful, after all you done for me. But I did n t get 
 a good night s rest. Wish you d put me in an 
 other cell to-night. There was folks droppin 
 in here at all hours of the night, pesterin me. 
 I did n t sleep good at all." 
 
242 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 " Dropping in? What in hell do you mean?" 
 gurgled the sheriff, still pointing to rope and 
 saw. 
 
 "Why, sheriff, what s the matter? Aren t 
 you a little mite petulant this A.M.? What 
 have I done that you should be so short to me? 1 
 
 "That s what I want to know. What have 
 you been doing here?" 
 
 "I ain t been doing nothin , I tell you 
 except stayin here, where I belong," said Pete 
 virtuously. 
 
 His eye followed the sheriff s pointing finger, 
 and rested, without a qualm, on the evidence. 
 The sheriff laid a trembling hand on the coiled 
 rope. "How d you get this in, damn you?" 
 
 "That rope? Oh, a fellow shoved it through 
 the bars. Wanted me to saw my way out and 
 go with him, I reckon. I did n t want to argue 
 with him, so I just took it and did n t let on I 
 was n t comin . Was n t that right? Why, I 
 thought you d be pleased ! I could n t have 
 any way of knowin that you d take it like 
 this." 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 243 
 
 " Shoved it in through a third-story window?" 
 
 Pete s ingenuous face took on an injured 
 look. "I reckon maybe he stood on his tip 
 toes," he admitted. 
 
 " Who was it?" 
 
 " I don t know," said Pete truthfully. " He 
 did n t speak and I did n t see him. Maybe 
 he did n t want me to break jail; but I thought, 
 seem the saw and all, he had some such idea 
 in mind." 
 
 "Did he bring the keys, too?" 
 
 "Oh, no that was another man entirely* 
 He came a little later. And he sure wanted me 
 to quit jail; because he said so. But I would n t 
 go, sheriff. I thought you would n t like it. 
 Say, you ought to sit down, feller. You re go 
 ing to have apoplexy one of these days, sure as 
 you re a foot high!" 
 
 "You come downstairs with me," said the 
 angry Barton. "I ll get at the bottom of this 
 or I ll have your heart out of you." 
 
 "All right, sheriff. Just you wait till I get 
 
244 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 dressed/ Peter laced his shoes, put on his hat, 
 and laid tie, coat, and vest negligently across 
 the hollow of his arm " I can t do my tie good 
 unless I got a looking-glass/ he explained, and 
 paused to light a cigar. "Have one, sheriff," 
 he said with hospitable urgency. 
 
 "Get out of here!" shouted the enraged 
 officer. 
 
 Pete tripped light-footed down the stairs. 
 At the stairfoot the sheriff paused. In the cell 
 directly opposite were two bruised and tat 
 tered inmates where there should have been 
 but one, and that one undismantled. The 
 sheriff surveyed the wreckage within. His jaw 
 dropped; his face went red to the hair; his lip 
 trembled as he pointed to the larger of the two 
 roommates, who was, beyond doubting, Amos 
 Poole or some remainder of him. 
 
 "How did that man get here?" demanded 
 the sheriff in a cracked and horrified voice. 
 
 "Him? Oh, I throwed him in there!" said 
 Pete lightly. "That s the man who brought 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 245 
 
 me the keys and pestered me to go away with 
 him. Say, sheriff, better watch out! He told 
 me he had a gun, and that he had the jailer 
 tied and gagged. " 
 
 "The damned skunk didn t have no gun! 
 All he had was a flashlight, and I broke that 
 over his head. But he tole me the same story 
 about the jailer all except the gun/ 1 This tes 
 timony was volunteered by Poole s cellmate. 
 
 Peter removed his cigar and looked at the 
 "damned skunk " more closely. 
 
 "Why, if it ain t Mr. Poole!" he said. 
 
 "Sure, it s Poole. What in hell does he 
 mean, then swearin you into jail and then 
 breakin you out?" 
 
 "Had n t you better ask him?" said Peter, 
 very reasonably. "You come on down to the 
 office, sheriff. I want you to get at the bottom 
 of this or have the heart out of some one." He 
 rolled a dancing eye at Poole with the word, 
 and Poole shrank before it. 
 
 "Breakfast! Bring us our breakfast!" bawled 
 the prisoners. " Breakfast ! " 
 
246 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 The sheriff dealt leniently with the uproar, 
 realizing that these were but weakling folk 
 and, under the influence of excitement, hardly 
 responsible. 
 
 "Brooks has been tied up all night, and is 
 all but dead. I 11 get you something as soon as 
 I can," he said, "on condition that you stop 
 that hullabaloo at once. Johnson, come down 
 to the office." 
 
 He telephoned a hurry call to a restaurant, 
 Brooks, the jailer, being plainly incapable of 
 furnishing breakfast. Then he turned to Pete. 
 
 "What is this, Johnson? A plant?" 
 
 Pete s nose quivered. 
 
 "Sure! It was a plant from the first. The 
 Pooles were hired to set upon me. This one 
 was sent, masked, to tell me to break out. 
 Then, as I figure it, I was to be betrayed back 
 again, to get two or three years in the pen for 
 breaking jail. Nice little scheme!" 
 
 "Who did it? For Poole, if you re not lying, 
 was only a tool." 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 247 
 
 "Sheriff," said Pete, "pass your hand 
 through my hair and feel there, and look at my 
 face. See any scars? Quite a lot of em? And 
 all in front? Men like me don t have to lie. 
 They pay for what they break. You go back 
 up there and get after Poole. He ll tell you. 
 Any man that will do what he did to me, for 
 money, will squeal on his employer. Sure!" 
 
 Overhead the hammering and shouting 
 broke out afresh. 
 
 "There," said the sheriff regretfully; "now 
 I 11 have to make those fellows go without any 
 thing to eat till dinner-time." 
 
 "Sheriff," said Pete, "youVe been mighty 
 square with me. Now I want you should do 
 me one more favor. It will be the last one; for 
 I shan t be with you long. Give those boys 
 their breakfast. I got em into this. I ll pay 
 for it, and take it mighty kindly of you, be 
 sides." 
 
 "Oh, all right!" growled the sheriff, secretly 
 relieved. 
 
248 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "One thing more, brother: I think your 
 jailer was in this but that s your business. 
 Anyhow, Poole knew which key opened my 
 door, and he did n t know the others. Of 
 course, he may have forced your jailer to tell 
 him that. But Poole did n t strike me as being 
 up to any bold enterprise unless it was cut-and- 
 dried." 
 
 The sheriff departed, leaving Johnson un 
 guarded in the office. In ten minutes he was 
 back. 
 
 "All right," he nodded. "He confessed 
 whimpering hard. Brooks was in it. I ve got 
 him locked up. Nice doings, this is!" 
 
 "Mitchell?" 
 
 "Yes. I would n t have thought it of him. 
 What was the reason?" 
 
 There is never but one reason. Money. 
 Who s this?" 
 
 It was Mr. Boland, attended by Mr. Ferdie 
 Sedgwick, both sadly disheveled and bearing 
 marks of a sleepless night. Francis Charles 
 spoke hurriedly to the sheriff. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 249 
 
 "Oh, I say, Barton! McClintock will go 
 bail for this man Johnson. Ferdie and I would, 
 but we re not taxpayers in the county. Come 
 over to the Iroquois, won t you?" 
 
 "Boland," said the sheriff solemnly, "take 
 this scoundrel out of my jail! Don t you ever 
 let him step foot in here again. There won t 
 be any bail; but he must appear before His 
 Honor later to-day for the formal dismissal of 
 the case. Take him away! If you can possibly 
 do so, ship him out of town at once." 
 
 Francis Charles winked at Peter as they 
 went down the steps. 
 
 "So it was you last night?" said Peter. 
 11 Thanks to you. I 11 do as much for you some 
 time." 
 
 "Thank us both. This is my friend Sedg- 
 wick, who was to have been our chauffeur." 
 The two gentlemen bowed, grinning joyfully. 
 "My name s Boland, and I m to be your first 
 stockholder. Miss Selden told me about you 
 which is my certificate of character. Come 
 
250 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 over to the hotel and see Old McClintock. 
 Miss Selden is there too. She bawled him out 
 about Nephew Stan last night. Regular old- 
 fashioned wigging! And now she has the old 
 gentleman eating from her hand. Say, how 
 about this Stanley thing, anyway? Any good?" 
 "Son," said Pete, "Stanley is a regular per 
 
 son/ 
 
 Boland s face clouded. 
 
 "Well, I m going out with you and have a 
 good look at him," he said gloomily. "If I m 
 not satisfied with him, I ll refuse my consent. 
 And I ll look at your mine if you ve got 
 any mine. They used to say that when a man 
 drinks of the waters of the Hassayampa, he 
 can never tell the truth again. And you re 
 from Arizona." 
 
 Pete stole a shrewd look at the young man s 
 face. 
 
 "There is another old saying about the 
 Hassayampa, son," he said kindly, "with even 
 more truth to it than in that old dicho. They 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 251 
 
 say that whoever drinks of the waters of the 
 Hassayampa must come to drink again/* 
 
 He bent his brows at Francis Charles. 
 
 "Good guess," admitted Boland, answering 
 the look. "I ve never been to Arizona, but 
 I ve sampled the Pecos and the Rio Grande; 
 and I must go back Where the flyin -fishes 
 play on the road to Mandalay, where the dawn 
 comes up like thunder Oh, gee! That s 
 my real reason. I suppose that silly girl and 
 your picturesque pardner will marry, anyhow, 
 even if I disapprove precious pair they ll 
 make! And if I take a squint at the copper 
 proposition, it will be mostly in Ferdie s inter 
 est Ferdie is the capitalist, comparatively 
 speaking; but he can t tear himself away from 
 little old N Yawk. This is his first trip West 
 here in Vesper. Myself, I ve got only two 
 coppers to clink together or maybe three. 
 We re rather overlooking Ferdie, don t you 
 think? Must n t do that. Might withdraw his 
 backin . Ferdie, speak up pretty for the gen- 
 nulmun! 
 
252 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "Oh, don t mind me, Mr. Johnson," said 
 Sedgwick cheerfully. " I m used to hearin Bo- 
 land hog the conversation, and trottin to keep 
 up with him. Glad to be seen on the street 
 with him. Gives one a standing, you know. 
 But, I say, old chappie, why did n t you come 
 last night? Deuced anxious, we were! Thought 
 you missed the way, or slid down your rope 
 and got nabbed again, maybe. No end of a 
 funk I was in, not being used to lawbreakin , 
 except by advice of counsel. And we felt a cer 
 tain delicacy about inquiring about you this 
 morning, you know until we heard about 
 the big ructions at the jail. Come over to Mc- 
 Clintock s rooms can t you? where we ll 
 be all together, and tell us about it so you 
 won t have to tell it but the one time." 
 
 "No, sir," said Pete decidedly. "I get my 
 breakfast first, and a large shave. Got to do 
 credit to Stan. Then I ll go with you. Big 
 mistake, though. Story like this gets better 
 after bein told a few times. I could make 
 quite a tale of this, with a little practice." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 YOU VE got Stan sized up all wrong, 
 Mr. McClintock," said Pete. "That boy 
 did n t want your money. He never so much 
 as mentioned your name to me. If he had, I 
 would have known why Old Man Trouble was 
 haunting him so persistent. And he don t want 
 anybody s money. He s got a-plenty of his 
 own in prospect. And he s got what s 
 better than money : he has learned to do with 
 out what he has n t got." 
 
 14 You say he has proved himself a good man 
 of his hands? " demanded McClintock sharply. 
 "Yessir Stanley is sure one double-fisted 
 citizen," said Pete. "Here is what I heard 
 spoken of him by highest authority the day 
 before I left: He ll make a hand! That was 
 the word said of Stan to me. We don t get 
 any higher than that in Arizona. When you 
 say of a man, He ll do to take along, you ve 
 said it all. And Stanley Mitchell will do to take 
 
254 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 along. I m thinkin , sir, that you did him no 
 such an ill turn when your quarrel sent him 
 out there. He was maybe the least bit inclined 
 to be butter-flighty when he first landed." 
 
 It was a queer gathering. McClintock sat 
 in his great wheeled chair, leaning against the 
 cushions; he held a silken skull-cap in his hand, 
 revealing a shining poll with a few silvered 
 locks at side and back; his little red ferret 
 eyes, fiery still, for all the burden of his years, 
 looked piercingly out under shaggy brows. 
 His attendant, withered and brown and gaunt, 
 stood silent behind him. Mary Selden, quiet 
 and pale, was at the old man s left hand. Pete 
 Johnson, with one puffed and discolored eye, 
 a bruised cheek, and with skinned and band 
 aged knuckles, but cheerful and sunny of de 
 meanor, sat facing McClintock. Boland and 
 Sedgwick sat a little to one side. They had 
 tried to withdraw, on the plea of intrusion; 
 but McClintock had overruled them and bade 
 them stay. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 255 
 
 "For the few high words that passed atween 
 us, I care not a boddle though, for the 
 cause of them I take shame to myself," said 
 McClintock, glancing down affectionately at 
 Mary Selden. "I was the more misled at 
 the contrivance of yon fleechin scoundrel of 
 an Oscar. I m off to Arizona, to win the boy 
 free/ says he the leein cur! ... I will say 
 this thing, too, that my heart warmed to the 
 lad at the very time of it that he had spunk 
 to speak his mind. I have seen too much of 
 the supple stock. Sirs, it is but an ill thing to 
 be over-rich, in which estate mankind is seen 
 at the worst. The fawning sort cringe under 
 foot for favors, and the true breed of kindly 
 folk are all o erapt to pass the rich man by, 
 verra scornful-like." He looked hard at Peter 
 Johnson. " I am naming no names," he added. 
 
 "As for my gear, it would be a queer thing 
 if I could not do what I like with my own. 
 Even a gay young birkie like yoursel should 
 understand that, Mr. Johnson. Besides, we 
 
256 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 talk of what is by. The lawyer has been; Van 
 Lear has given him instructions, and the pack 
 of you shall witness my hand to the bit paper 
 that does Stan right, or ever you leave this 
 
 room." 
 
 Pete shrugged his shoulders. " Stanley will 
 always be feelin that I softied it up to you. 
 And he s a stiff-necked one Stan!" 
 
 McClintock laughed with a relish. 
 
 "For all ye are sic a fine young man, Mr. 
 Johnson, I m doubtin ye re no deeplomat. 
 And Stan will be knowin that same. Here is 
 what ye shall do : you shall go to him and say 
 that you saw an old man sitting by his leelane, 
 handfast to the chimney neuk; and that you 
 are thinking I will be needin a friendly face, 
 and that you think ill of him for that same 
 stiff neck of his. Ye will be having him come 
 to seek and not to gie ; folk aye like better to be 
 forgiven than to forgive; I do, mysel . That is 
 what you shall do for me." 
 
 "And I did not come to coax money from 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 257 
 
 you to develop the mine with, either/ said 
 Pete. " If the play had n t come just this way, 
 with the jail and all, you would have seen 
 neither hide nor hair of me." 
 
 " I am thinkin that you are one who has had 
 his own way of it overmuch," said McClintock. 
 His little red eyes shot sparks beneath the 
 beetling brows; he had long since discovered 
 that he had the power to badger Mr. Johnson; 
 and divined that, as a usual thing, Johnson 
 was a man not easily ruffled. The old man en 
 joyed the situation mightily and made the 
 most of it. "When ye are come to your 
 growth, you will be more patient of sma cross 
 ings. Here is no case for argle-bargle. You 
 have taken yon twa brisk lads into composi 
 tion with you" he nodded toward the brisk 
 lads the compact being that they were to 
 provide fodder for yonder mine-beastie, so far 
 as in them lies, and, when they should grow 
 short of siller, to seek more for you. Weel, 
 they need seek no farther, then. I have told 
 
258 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 them that I will be their backer at need; I 
 made the deal wi them direct and ye have 
 nowt to do with it. You are ill to please, young 
 man! You come here with a very singular 
 story, and nowt to back it but a glib tongue 
 and your smooth, innocent-like young face 
 and you go back hame with a heaped gowpen 
 of gold, and mair in the kist ahint of that. I 
 think ye do very weel for yoursel ." 
 
 "Don t mind him, Mr. Johnson," said 
 Mary Selden. "He is only teasing you." 
 
 Old McClintock covered her hand with his 
 own and continued: "Listen to her now! Was 
 ne er a lassie yet could bear to think ;ill of 
 a bonny face!" He drew down his brows at 
 Pete, who writhed visibly. 
 
 Ferdie Sedgwick rose and presented a slip of 
 pasteboard to McClintock, with a bow. 
 
 "I have to-day heard with astonishment 
 ahem! and with indignation, a great many 
 unseemly and disrespectful remarks concern 
 ing money, and more particularly concerning 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 259 
 
 money that runs to millions," he said, oppos 
 ing a grave and wooden countenance to the 
 battery of eyes. " Allow me to present you my 
 card, Mr. McClintock, and to assure you that 
 I harbor no such sentiments. I can always be 
 reached at the address given ; and I beg you to 
 remember, sir, that I shall be most happy to 
 serve you in the event that " 
 
 A rising gale of laughter drowned his further 
 remarks, but he continued in dumb show, with 
 fervid gesticulations, and a mouth that moved 
 rapidly but produced no sound, concluding 
 with a humble bow; and stalked back to his 
 chair with stately dignity, unmarred by even 
 the semblance of a smile. Young Peter John 
 son howled with the rest, his sulks forgotten; 
 and even the withered serving-man relaxed to 
 a smile a portent hitherto unknown. 
 
 "Come; we grow giddy," chided McClin 
 tock at last, wiping his own eyes as he spoke. 
 "We have done with talk of yonder ghost- 
 bogle mine. But I must trouble you yet with 
 
260 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 a word of my own, which is partly to justify 
 me before you. This it is that, even at the 
 time of Stanley s flitting, I set it down in black 
 and white that he was to halve my gear wi 
 Oscar, share and share alike. I aye likit the 
 boy weel. From this day all is changit; Oscar 
 shall hae neither plack nor bawbee of mine; all 
 goes to my wife s nephew, Stanley Mitchell, 
 as is set down in due form in the bit testament 
 that is waiting without; bating only some few 
 sma bequests for old kindness. It is but loath 
 I am to poison our mirth with the name of the 
 man Oscar; the deil will hae him to be brand- 
 ered; he is fast grippit, except he be cast out as 
 an orra-piece, like the smith in the Norroway 
 tale. When ye are come to your own land, Mr. 
 Johnson, ye will find that brockle-faced stot 
 there afore you ; and I trust ye will comb him 
 weel. Heckle him finely, and spare not; but ere 
 ye have done wi him, for my sake drop a word 
 in his lug to come nae mair to Vesper. When 
 all s said, the man is of my wife s blood and 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 261 
 
 bears her name; I would not have that name 
 publicly disgracit. They were a kindly folk, 
 the Mitchells. I thought puirly of theem for a 
 wastrel crew when I was young. But now I am 
 old, I doubt their way was as near right as 
 mine. You will tell him for me, Mr. Johnson, 
 to name one who shall put a value on his 
 gear, and I shall name another; and what they 
 agree upon I shall pay over to his doer, and 
 then may I never hear of him more unless 
 it be of ony glisk of good yet in him, the which 
 I shall be most blithe to hear. And so let that 
 be my last word of Oscar. Cornelius, bring in 
 the lawyer body, and let us be ower wi it; for 
 I think it verra needfu that the two lads 
 should even pack their mails and take train 
 this day for the West. You ll have an eye on 
 this young spark, Mr. Boland? And gie him a 
 bit word of counsel from time to time, should 
 ye see him temptit to whilly-whas and follies? 
 I fear me he is prone to insubordination." 
 "I ll watch over him, sir," laughed Boland. 
 
262 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "I ll keep him in order. And if Miss Selden 
 should have a message or anything to 
 send, perhaps " 
 
 Miss Selden blushed and laughed. 
 
 "No, thank you!" she said. "I ll I ll 
 send it by Mr. Johnson." 
 
 The will was brought in. McClintock af 
 fixed his signature in a firm round hand; the 
 others signed as witnesses. 
 
 "Man Johnson, will ye bide behind for a 
 word?" said McClintock as the farewells were 
 said. When the others were gone, he made a 
 sign to Van Lear, who left the room. 
 
 " I m asking you to have Stanley back soon 
 though he ll be coming for the lassie s sake, 
 ony gate. But I am wearyin for a sight of 
 the lad s face the once yet," said the old man. 
 "And yoursel , Mr. Johnson; if you visit to 
 York State again, I should be blithe to have a 
 crack with you. But it must be early days, for 
 I ll be flittin soon. I 11 tell you this, that I am 
 real pleased to have met with you. Man, I ll 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 263 
 
 tell ye a dead secret. Ye ken the auld man 
 ahint my chair him that the silly folk ca* 
 Rameses Second in their sport? What think 
 ye the auld body whispert to me but now? 
 That he likit ye weel no less! Man, that 
 sets ye up! Cornelius has not said so much for 
 ony man these twenty year so my jest is 
 true enough, for all t was said in fleerin ; ye 
 bear your years well and the credentials of 
 them in your face. Ye 11 not be minding for 
 an old man s daffin ?" 
 
 "Sure not! I m a great hand at the joke- 
 play myself," said Pete. "And it s good for 
 me to do the squirmin myself, for once/ 
 
 " I thought so much. I likit ye mysel , and 
 I ll be thinkin of you, nights, and your wild 
 life out beyont. I ll tell you somethin now, 
 and belike you ll laugh at me." He lowered 
 his voice and spoke wistfully. "Man, I have 
 ne er fought wi my hands in a my life not 
 since I was a wean; nor yet felt the pinch of 
 ony pressin danger to be facit, that I might 
 
264 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 know how jeopardy sorts wi my stomach. I 
 became man-grown as a halflin boy, or e er 
 you were born yet a starvelin boy, workin 
 for bare bread; and hard beset I was for t. So 
 my thoughts turned all money-wise, till it be 
 came fixture and habit with me; and I took 
 nae time for pleasures. But when I heard of 
 your fight yestreen, and how you begawked 
 him that we are to mention no more, and of 
 your skirmishes and by-falls with these gentry 
 of your own land, my silly auld blood leapit in 
 my briskit. And when I was a limber lad like 
 yourself, I do think truly that once I might hae 
 likit weel to hae been lot and part of siclike stir 
 and hazard, and to see the bale-fires burn. 
 
 " Bear with me a moment yet, and I 11 have 
 done. There is a hard question I would spier 
 of you. I thought but ill of my kind in my 
 younger days. Now, being old, I see, with a 
 thankful heart, how many verra fine people 
 inhabit here. T is a rale bonny world. And, 
 lookin back, I see too often where I have made 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 265 
 
 harsh judgings of my fellows. There are more 
 excuses for ill-doings to my old eyes. Was t so 
 with you?" 
 
 "Yes," said Pete. " We re not such a poor 
 lot after all not when we stop to think or 
 when we re forced to see. In fire or flood, or 
 sickness, we re all eager to bear a hand for 
 we see, then. Our purses and our hearts are 
 open to any great disaster. Why, take two 
 cases the telephone girls and the elevator 
 boys. Don t sound heroic much, do they? But, 
 by God, when the floods come, the telephone 
 girls die at their desks, still sendin out warn 
 ings! And when a big fire comes, and there 
 are lives to save, them triflin cigarette-smok 
 ing, sassy, no-account boys run the elevators 
 through hell and back as long as the cables 
 hold! Every time!" 
 
 The old man s eye kindled. " Look ye there, 
 now! Man, and have ye noticed that too?" he 
 cried triumphantly. <; * Ye have e en the secret 
 of it. We re good in emairgencies, the now; 
 
266 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 when the time comes when we get a glimmer 
 that all life is emairgency and tremblin peril, 
 that every turn may be the wrong turn when 
 we can see that our petty system of suns and 
 all is nobbut a wee darkling cockle-boat, drif tin 
 and tossed abune the waves in the outmost seas 
 of an onrushing universe hap-chance we ll 
 no loom so grandlike in our own een; and 
 we ll tak hands for comfort in the dark. T is 
 good theology, yon wise saying of the silly 
 street: We are all in the same boat. Don t 
 rock the boat! " 
 
 When Peter had gone, McClintock s feeble 
 hands, on the wheel-rims, pushed his chair to 
 the wall and took from a locked cabinet an 
 old and faded daguerreotype of a woman with 
 smiling eyes. He looked at it long and si 
 lently, and fell asleep there, the time-stained 
 locket in his hands. When Van Lear returned, 
 McClintock woke barely in time to hide the 
 locket under a cunning hand and spoke 
 harshly to that aged servitor. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 BEFORE the two adventurers left Vesper, 
 Johnson wired to Jose Benavides the date 
 of his arrival at Tucson; and from El Paso 
 he wired Jackson Carr to leave Mohawk the 
 next day but one, with the last load of water. 
 Johnson and Boland arrived in Tucson at 
 seven-twenty-six in the morning. Benavides 
 met them at the station a slender, wiry, 
 hawk-faced man, with a grizzled beard. 
 
 "So this is Francis Charles? " said Stanley. 
 
 "Frank by brevet, now. Pete has pro 
 moted me. He says that Francis Charles is too 
 heavy for the mild climate, and unwieldy in 
 emergencies." 
 
 "You ought to see Frankie in his new khaki 
 suit! He s just too sweet for anything," said 
 Pete. "You know Benavides, Stan?" 
 
 "Joe and I are lifelong friends of a week s 
 
268 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 standing. Compadres eh, Joe? He came 
 to console my captivity on your account, at 
 first, and found me so charming that he came 
 back on his own." 
 
 "Ah, que hombret Do not beliefing heem, 
 Don Hooaleece. He ees begging me efery day 
 to come again back that leetle one/ cried 
 Joe indignantly. "I come here not wis plessir 
 not so. He is ver triste, thees boy ver 
 dull. I am to take sorry for heem sin ver- 
 guenza! Also, perhaps a leetle I am coming for 
 that he ordaire always from the Posada the 
 bes* dinners, lak now." 
 
 "Such a care- free life!" sighed Francis- 
 Frank. "Decidedly I must reform my ways. 
 One finds so much gayety and happiness 
 among the criminal classes, as I observed 
 when I first met Mr. Johnson in Vesper 
 Jail." 
 
 "Oh, has Pete been in jail? That s good. 
 Tell us about it, Pete." 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 269 
 
 That was a morning which flashed by quickly. 
 The gleeful history of events in Vesper was 
 told once and again, with Pete s estimate and 
 critical analysis of the Vesperian world. Stan 
 ley s new fortunes were announced, and Pete 
 spoke privately with him concerning Mc- 
 Clintock. The coming campaign was planned 
 in detail, over another imported meal. Stan 
 ley was to be released that afternoon, Bena- 
 vides becoming security for him ; but, through 
 the courtesy of the sheriff, he was to keep his 
 cell until late bedtime. It was wished to make 
 the start without courting observation. For 
 the same reason, when the sheriff escorted 
 Stanley and Benavides to the courthouse for 
 the formalities attendant to the bail-giving, 
 Pete did not go along. Instead, he took Frank- 
 Francis for a sight-seeing stroll about the 
 town. 
 
 It was past two when, in an unquiet street, 
 Boland s eye fell upon a signboard which drew 
 his eye: 
 
270 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 THE PALMILLA 
 
 THE ONLY SECOND-CLASS SALOON IN THE CITY 
 
 Boland called attention to this surprising 
 proclamation. 
 
 "Yes," said Pete; "that s Rhiny Archer s 
 place. Little old Irishman sharp as a steel 
 trap. You ll like him. Let s go in." 
 
 They marched in. The barroom was de 
 serted; Tucson was hardly awakened from 
 siesta as yet. From the open door of a side 
 room came a murmur of voices. 
 
 "Where s Rhiny?" demanded Pete of the 
 bartender. 
 
 "Rhiny don t own the place now. Sold out 
 and gone." 
 
 "Shucks!" said Pete. "That s too bad. 
 Where d he go?" 
 
 "Don t know. You might ask the boss." 
 He raised his voice: "Hey, Dewing! Gentle 
 man here to speak to you." 
 
 At the summons, Something Dewing ap 
 peared at the side door; he gave a little start 
 when he saw Pete at the bar. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 271 
 
 "Why, hello, Johnson! Well met! This is a 
 surprise/ 1 
 
 " Same here/ said Pete. " Did n t know you 
 were in town/ 
 
 " Yes; I bought Rhiny out. Tired of Cobre. 
 Want to take a hand at poker, Pete? Here s 
 two lumberjacks down from up-country, and 
 honing to play. Their money s burning holes 
 in their pockets. I was just telling them that 
 it s too early to start a game yet." 
 
 He indicated the other two men, who were 
 indeed disguised as lumberjacks, even to their 
 hands; but their faces were not the faces of 
 workingmen. 
 
 " Cappers," thought Pete. Aloud he said: 
 "Not to-day, I guess. Where s Rhiny? In 
 town yet?" 
 
 "No ; he left. Don t know where he went ex 
 actly somewhere up Flagstaff -way, I think. 
 But I can find out for you if you want to 
 write to him." 
 
 "Oh, no nothing particular. Just wanted 
 a chin with him." 
 
272 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "Better try the cards a whirl, Pete," urged 
 the gambler. "I don t want to start up for a 
 three-handed game." 
 
 Pete considered. It was not good taste to 
 give a second invitation; evidently Dewing 
 had strong reasons for desiring his company. 
 "If this tinhorn thinks he can pump me, I ll 
 let him try it a while," he reflected. He glanced 
 at his watch. 
 
 "Three o clock. I ll tell you what I ll do 
 with you, Dewing," he said: "I ll disport 
 round till supper-time, if I last that long. But 
 I can t go very strong. Quit you at supper- 
 time, win or lose. Say six o clock, sharp. The 
 table will be filled up long before that." 
 
 "Come into the anteroom. We ll start in 
 with ten-cent chips," said Dewing. "Maybe 
 your friend would like to join us?" 
 
 "Not at first. Later, maybe. Come on, 
 Frankie!" 
 
 Boland followed into the side room. He was 
 a little disappointed in Pete. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 273 
 
 "You see, it s like this," said Pete, sinking 
 into a chair after the door was closed: "Back 
 where Boland lives the rules are different. 
 They play a game something like Old Maid, 
 and call it poker. He can sit behind me a spell 
 and I ll explain how we play it. Then, if he 
 wants to, he can sit in with us. Deal em up." 
 
 "Cut for deal high deals," said Dewing. 
 
 After the first hand was played, Pete began 
 his explanations: 
 
 "We play all jack pots here, Frankie; and 
 we use five aces. That is in the Constitution 
 of the State of Texas, and the Texas influence 
 reaches clear to the Colorado River. The joker 
 goes for aces, flushes, and straights. It always 
 counts as an ace, except to fill a straight; but 
 if you ve got a four-card straight and the joker, 
 then the joker fills your hand. Here; I 11 show 
 you." Between deals he sorted out a ten, nine, 
 eight, and seven, and the joker with them. 
 "There," he said; "with a hand like this you 
 can call the joker either a jack or a six, just as 
 
274 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 you please. It is usual to call it a jack. But 
 in anything except straights and straight 
 flushes if there is any such thing as a 
 straight flush the cuter card counts as an 
 ace. Got that?" 
 
 4 Yes; I think I can remember that." 
 "All right! You watch us play a while, then, 
 till you get on to our methods of betting 
 they re different from yours too. When you 
 think you re wise, you can take a hand if you 
 want to." 
 
 Boland watched for a few hands and then 
 bought in. The game ran on for an hour, with 
 the usual vicissitudes. Nothing very startling 
 happened. The "lumbermen" bucked each 
 other furiously, bluffing in a scandalous man 
 ner when they fought for a pot between them 
 selves. Each was cleaned out several times 
 and bought more chips. Pete won; lost; 
 bought chips; won, lost, and won again; and 
 repeated the process. Red and blue chips be 
 gan to appear: the table took on a distinctly 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 275 
 
 patriotic appearance. The lumbermen clam 
 ored to raise the ante; Johnson steadfastly 
 declined. Boland, playing cautiously, neither 
 won nor lost. Dewing won quietly, mostly 
 from the alleged lumbermen. 
 
 The statement that nothing particular had 
 occurred is hardly accurate. There had been 
 one little circumstance of a rather peculiar 
 nature. Once or twice, when it came Pete s 
 turn to deal, he had fancied that he felt a stir 
 of cold air at the back of his neck; cooler, at 
 least, than the smoke-laden atmosphere of the 
 card room. 
 
 On the third recurrence of this phenomenon 
 Pete glanced carelessly at his watch before 
 picking up his hand, and saw in the polished 
 back a tiny reflection from the wall behind 
 him a small horizontal panel, tilted tran- 
 somwise, and a peering face. Pete scanned 
 his hand; when he picked up his watch to re 
 store it to his pocket, the peering face was 
 gone and the panel had closed again. 
 
276 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 Boland, sitting beside Johnson, saw nothing 
 of this. Neither did the lumbermen, though 
 they were advantageously situated on the 
 opposite side of the table. Pete played on, 
 with every sense on the alert. He knocked over 
 a pile of chips, spilling some on the floor; when 
 he stooped over to get them, he slipped his 
 gun from his waistband and laid it in his lap. 
 His curiosity was aroused. 
 
 At length, on Dewing s deal, Johnson picked 
 up three kings before the draw. He sat at 
 Dewing s left; it was his first chance to open 
 the pot; he passed. Dewing coughed; Johnson 
 felt again that current of cold air on his neck. 
 "This must be the big mitt," thought Pete. 
 " In a square game there d be nothing unusual 
 in passing up three kings for a raise that is 
 good poker. But Dewing wants to be sure I ve 
 got em. Are they going to slide me four kings? 
 I reckon not. It is n t considered good form 
 to hold four aces against four kings. They ll 
 slip me a king-full, likely, and some one will 
 hold an ace-full." 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 277 
 
 Obligingly Pete spread his three kings fan- 
 wise, for the convenience of the onlooker be 
 hind the panel. So doing, he noted that he 
 held the kings of hearts, spades, and diamonds, 
 with the queen and jack of diamonds. He slid 
 queen and jack together. "Two aces to go 
 with this hand would give me a heap of con 
 fidence," he thought. "I m going to take a 
 long chance." 
 
 Boland passed; the first lumberman opened 
 the pot; the second stayed; Dewing stayed; 
 Pete stayed, and raised. Boland passed out; 
 the first lumberman saw the raise. 
 
 "I ought to lift this again; but I won t," 
 announced the lumberman. "I want to get 
 Scotty s money in this pot, and I might scare 
 him out." 
 
 Scotty, the second lumberman, hesitated 
 for a moment, and then laid down his hand, 
 using language. Dewing saw the raise. 
 
 "Here s where I get a cheap draw for the 
 Dead Man s Hand aces and eights." He 
 
278 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 discarded two and laid before him, face up on 
 the table, a pair of eights and an ace of hearts. 
 "I m going to trim you fellows this time. 
 Aces and eights have never been beaten yet." 
 
 "Damn you! Here s one eight you won t 
 get," said Scotty; he turned over his hand, ex 
 posing the eight of clubs. 
 
 41 Must n t expose your cards unnecessarily," 
 said Dewing reprovingly. "It spoils the game. 
 He picked up the deck. "Cards?" 
 
 Pete pinched his cards to the smallest com 
 pass and cautiously discarded two of them, 
 holding their faces close to the table. 
 
 "Give me two right off the top." 
 
 Dewing complied. 
 
 "Cards to you?" he said. "Next gentle 
 man?" 
 
 The next gentleman scowled. " I orter have 
 raised," he said. "Only I wanted Scotty s 
 money. Now, like as not, somebody 11 draw 
 out on me. I ll play these." 
 
 Dewing dealt himself two. Reversing his 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 279 
 
 exposed cards, he shoved between them the 
 two cards he had drawn and laid these five be 
 fore him, backs up, without looking at them. 
 
 "It s your stab, Mr. Johnson," said Dew 
 ing sweetly. 
 
 Johnson skinned his hand slowly and cau 
 tiously, covering his cards with his hands, 
 clipping one edge lightly so that the opposite 
 edges were slightly separated, and peering be 
 tween them. He had drawn the joker and the 
 ace of diamonds. He closed the hand tightly 
 and shoved in a stack. 
 
 " Here s where you see aces and eights 
 beaten," he said, addressing Dewing. "You 
 can t have four eights, cause Mr. Scotty done 
 showed one." 
 
 The lumberman raised. 
 
 "What are you horning in for?" demanded 
 Pete. "I ve got you beat. It s Dewing s hide 
 I m after." 
 
 Dewing looked at his cards and stayed. 
 Pete saw the raise and re-raised. 
 
280 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 The lumberman sized up to Pete s raise 
 tentatively, but kept his hand on his stack of 
 chips; he questioned Pete with his eyes, mut 
 tered, hesitated, and finally withdrew the stack 
 of chips in his hands and threw up his cards 
 with a curse, exposing a jack-high spade flush. 
 
 Dewing s eyes were cold and hard. He saw 
 Pete s raise and raised again, pushing in two 
 stacks of reds. 
 
 "That s more than I ve got, but I ll see 
 you as far as my chips hold out. Wish to 
 Heaven I had a bushel ! " Pete sized up his few 
 chips beside Dewing s tall red stacks. "It s 
 a shame to show this hand for such a pitiful 
 little bit of money," he said in an aggrieved 
 voice. "What you got?" 
 
 Dewing made no move to turn over his 
 cards. 
 
 " If you feel that way about it, old-timer," 
 he said as he raked back his remainder of un- 
 imperiled chips, "you can go down in your 
 pocket." 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 281 
 
 " Table stakes !" objected Scotty. 
 
 " That s all right," said Dewing. "We ll 
 suspend the rules, seeing there s no one in the 
 pot but Johnson and me. This game, I take 
 it, is going to break up right now and leave 
 somebody feeling mighty sore. If you re so 
 sure you Ve got me beat dig up!" 
 
 "Cash my chips," said Scotty. "I sat down 
 here to play table stakes, and I did n t come to 
 hear you fellows jaw, either." 
 
 "You shut up!" said Dewing. "I ll cash 
 your chips when I play out this hand not 
 before. You re not in this." 
 
 "Hell; you re both of you scared stiff!" 
 scoffed Scotty. "Neither of you dast put up a 
 cent." 
 
 "Well, Johnson, how about it?" jeered Dew 
 ing. What are you going to do or take water? 
 
 "Won t there ever be any more hands of 
 poker dealt?" asked Pete. "If I thought this 
 was to be the last hand ever played, I d sure 
 plunge right smart on this bunch of mine." 
 
282 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 " Weakening, eh?" sneered Dewing. 
 
 " That s enough, Pete," said Boland, very 
 much vexed. "We re playing table stakes. 
 This is no way to do. Show what you ve got 
 and let s get out of this." 
 
 "You let me be! " snapped Pete. " No, Dew 
 ing; I m not weakening. About how much 
 cash have you got in your roll?" 
 
 "About fourteen hundred in the house. 
 More in the bank if you re really on the peck. 
 And I paid three thousand cash for this place." 
 
 "And I ve got maybe fifty or sixty dollars 
 with me. You see how it is," said Pete. "But 
 I ve got a good ranch and a bunch of cattle, if 
 you happen to know anything about them." 
 
 "Pete! Pete! That s enough," urged Bo- 
 land. 
 
 Pete shook him off. 
 
 "Mind your own business, will you?" he 
 snapped. "I m going to show Mr. Something 
 Dewing how it feels." 
 
 The gambler smiled coldly. "Johnson, 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 283 
 
 you re an old blowhard! If you really want to 
 make a man-size bet on that hand of yours, 
 I ll make you a proposition." 
 
 "Bet on it? Bet on this hand?" snarled 
 Pete, clutching his cards tightly. "I d bet 
 everything I ve got on this hand." 
 
 "We ll see about that. I may be wrong, but 
 I seem to have heard that you and young 
 Mitchell have found a copper claim that s 
 pretty fair, and a little over. I believe it, 
 anyhow. And I m willing to take the risk 
 that you ll keep your word. I ll shoot the 
 works on this hand cash, bank roll, and the 
 joint, against a quarter interest in your mine." 
 
 "Son," said Johnson, "I would n t sell you 
 one per cent of my share of that mine for all 
 you ve got. Come again!" 
 
 The gambler laughed contemptuously. 
 "That s easy enough said," he taunted. "If 
 you want to wiggle out of it that way, all 
 right!" 
 
 Pete raised a finger. 
 
284 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "Not so fast. I don t remember that I ve 
 wiggled any yet. I don t want your money or 
 your saloon. In mentioning my mine you have 
 set an example of plain speaking which I in 
 tend to follow. I do hereby believe that you 
 can clear Stanley Mitchell of the charge hang 
 ing over him. If you can, I ll bet you a one- 
 quarter interest in our mine against that evi 
 dence. I 11 take your word if you 11 take mine, 
 and I 11 give you twelve hours start before I 
 make your confession public. Boland, you 
 mind your own business. I m doing this. 
 Well, Dewing, how about it?" 
 
 "If you think I ve got evidence to clear 
 Stanley" 
 
 "I do. I think you did the trick yourself, 
 likely." 
 
 " You might as well get one thing in your 
 head, first as last: if I had any such evidence 
 and made any such a bet I d win it! You 
 may be sure of that. So you d be no better off 
 so far as getting your pardner out of trouble 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 285 
 
 is concerned and you lose a slice of mining 
 property. If you really think I can give you 
 any such evidence, why not trade me an inter 
 est in the mine for it?" 
 
 "I m not buying, I m betting! Who s wig 
 gling now?" 
 
 "You headstrong, stiff-necked old fool, 
 you ve made a bet! I ve got the evidence. 
 Your word against mine?" 
 
 "Your word against mine. The bet is made," 
 said Pete. "What have you got? I called you." 
 
 "I ve got the Dead Man s Hand that s 
 all!" Dewing spread out three aces and a pair 
 of eights, and smiled exasperatingly. "You ve 
 got what you were looking for! I hope you re 
 satisfied now!" 
 
 "Yes," said Pete; "I m satisfied. Let s see 
 you beat this!" He tossed his cards on the 
 table. "Look at em! A royal straight flush 
 in diamonds, and a gun to back it!" The gun 
 leaped up with a click. "Come through, Dew 
 ing! Your spy may shoot me through that 
 
286 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 panel behind me; but if he does I ll bore you 
 through the heart. Boland, you ve got a gun. 
 Watch the wall at my back. If you see a panel 
 open, shoot! Hands on the table, lumbermen!" 
 
 " Don t shoot! I ll come through," said 
 Dewing, coolly enough, but earnestly. "I 
 think you are the devil! Where did you get 
 those cards?" 
 
 "Call your man in from that panel. My 
 back itches and so does my trigger finger." 
 
 "What do you think I am a fool? No 
 body s going to shoot you." Dewing raised 
 his voice: "Come on in, Warren, hands up, be 
 fore this old idiot drills me." 
 
 "Evidence," remarked Johnson softly, "is 
 what I am after. Evidence! I have no need of 
 any corpses. Boland, you might go through 
 Mr. Warren and those other gentlemen for 
 guns. Never mind Dewing; I ll get his gun, 
 myself, after the testimony. Dewing might 
 play a trick on you if you get too close. That s 
 right. Pile em in the chair. Now, Mr. Dewing 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 287 
 
 you were to give some testimony, I be 
 lieve." 
 
 " You 11 get it. I robbed Wiley myself . But 
 I m damned if I tell you any more till you tell 
 me where you got that hand. I ll swear those 
 are the cards I dealt you. I never took my eyes 
 off of you." 
 
 "Your eyes are all right, son," said Johnson 
 indulgently, "but you made your play too 
 strong. You showed an ace and two eights. 
 Then, when Mr. Scotty obliged by flashing an 
 other eight, I knowed you was to deal me two 
 aces for confidence cards and two more to your 
 self, to make out a full hand to beat my king- 
 full. So I discarded two kings. Turn em over, 
 Boland. I took a long chance. Drew to the 
 king, queen, and jack of diamonds. If one of 
 the aces I got in the draw had been either 
 hearts or black, I d have lost a little money; 
 and there s an end. As it happened, I drew 
 the diamond ace and the joker, making ace, 
 king, queen, jack, and ten and this poker 
 
288 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 game is hereby done broke up. I m ready for 
 the evidence now." 
 
 "You ve earned it fair, and you ll get it. I 
 told you I d not implicate any one but myself, 
 and I won t. I robbed Wiley so I could saw it 
 off on Stan. You know why, I guess," said 
 Dewing. "If you ll ask that little Bobby kid 
 of Jackson Carr s, he ll tell you that Stan lost 
 his spur beyond Hospital Springs about sunset 
 on the night of the robbery, and did n t find it 
 again. The three of us rode in together, and 
 the boy can swear that Stan had only one spur. 
 
 "I saw the spur when we were hunting for 
 it; I saw how it would help me get Stan out of 
 the way; so I said nothing, and I went back 
 that night and got it. I dropped it near where 
 I held Wiley up, and found it again, very op 
 portunely, when I came ba^ck to Cobre with 
 the posse. Every one knew that spur; that was 
 how the posse came to search Stan s place. 
 The rest is easy: I hid the money where it was 
 sure to be found. That s all I am going to tell 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 289 
 
 you, and that s enough. If it will make you 
 feel any better about it, though, you may be 
 pleased to know that Bat Wiley and most of 
 them were acting in good faith." 
 
 "That is quite satisfactory. The witness 
 is excused," said Pete. "And I ll give you 
 twelve hours to leave Tucson before I give out 
 the news." 
 
 "Twelve minutes is quite enough, thank 
 you. My address will be Old Mexico hereafter, 
 and I 11 close out the shop by mail. Anything 
 else?" 
 
 "Why, yes; you might let me have that 
 gun of yours as a keepsake. No; I ll get it," 
 said Pete kindly. "You just hold up your 
 hands. Well, we gotta be going. We ve had 
 a pleasant afternoon, haven t we? Good-bye, 
 gentlemen! Come on, Boland!" 
 
 They backed out of the room. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THAT night, between ten and eleven, 
 Stanley Mitchell came forth from Tuc 
 son Jail. Pete Johnson was not there to meet 
 him; fearing espionage from Cobre, he sent 
 Boland, instead. Boland led the ex-prisoner to 
 the rendezvous, where Pete and Joe Benavides 
 awaited their coming with four saddle horses, 
 the pick of the Benavides caballada, and two 
 pack-horses. Except for a small package of 
 dynamite a dozen sticks securely wrapped, 
 an afterthought that Pete put into effect 
 between poker game and supper-time the 
 packs contained only the barest necessities, 
 with water kegs, to be filled later. The four 
 friends were riding light; but each carried a 
 canteen at the saddle horn, and a rifle. 
 
 They rode quietly out through the southern 
 end of the town, Joe Benavides leading the 
 way. They followed a trail through Robles 
 Pass and westward through the Altar Valley. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 291 
 
 They watered at the R E Ranch at three in the 
 morning, waking Barnaby Robles; him they 
 bound to silence; and there they let their horses 
 rest and eat of the R E corn while they pre 
 pared a hasty breakfast. Then they pushed on, 
 to waste no brief coolness of the morning hours. 
 Pete kept word and spirit of his promise to 
 Dewing; not until day was broad in the sky 
 did he tell Stanley of Dewing s disclosure, tid 
 ings that displeased Stanley not at all. 
 
 It was a gay party on that bright desert 
 morning, though the way led through a dis 
 mal country of giant cactus, cholla and mes- 
 quite. Pete noted with amusement that Stan 
 ley and Frank-Francis showed some awk 
 wardness and restraint with each other. Their 
 clipped g s were carefully restored and their 
 conversation was otherwise conducted on the 
 highest plane. The dropping of this superflu 
 ous final letter had become habitual with Stan 
 ley through carelessness and conformance to 
 environment. With Boland it was a matter of 
 
292 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 principle, practiced in a spirit of perversity, in 
 rebellion against a world too severely regulated. 
 
 By ten in the morning the heat drove them 
 to cover for sleep and nooning in the scanty 
 shade of a mesquite motte. Long before that, 
 the two young gentlemen had arrived at an 
 easier footing and the g s were once more com 
 fortably dropped. But poor Boland, by this 
 time, was ill at ease in body. He was not in 
 experienced in hard riding of old; and in his 
 home on the northern tip of Manhattan, where 
 the Subway goes on stilts and the Elevated 
 runs underground, he had allowed himself the 
 luxury of a saddle horse and ridden no little, 
 in a mild fashion. But he was in no way 
 hardened to such riding as this. 
 
 Mr. Peter Johnson was gifted with prescience 
 beyond the common run; but for this case, 
 which would have been the first thought for 
 most men, his foresight had failed. During the 
 long six-hour nooning Boland suffered with in 
 termittent cramps in his legs, wakeful while 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 293 
 
 the others slept. He made no complaint; but, 
 though he kept his trouble from words, he 
 could not hold his face straight. When they 
 started on at four o clock, Pete turned aside 
 for the little spring in Coyote Pass, instead of 
 keeping to the more direct but rougher trail 
 to the Fresnal, over the Baboquivari, as first 
 planned. Boland promised to be something of 
 a handicap; which, had he but known it, was 
 all the better for the intents of Mr. Something 
 Dewing. 
 
 For Mr. Dewing had not made good his 
 strategic retreat to Old Mexico. When Pete 
 Johnson left the card room Dewing disap 
 peared, indeed, taking with him his two con 
 federates. But they went no farther than to a 
 modest and unassuming abode near by, known 
 to the initiated as the House of Refuge. There 
 Mr. Dewing did three things: first, he dis 
 patched messengers to bring tidings of Mr. 
 Johnson and his doings; second, he wrote to 
 
294 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 Mr. Mayer Zurich, at Cobre, and sent it by the 
 first mail west, so that the stage should bring 
 it to Cobre by the next night; third, he tele 
 graphed to a trusty satellite at Silverbell, tell 
 ing him to hold an automobile in readiness to 
 carry a telegram to Mayer Zurich, should Dew 
 ing send such telegram later. Then Dewing lay 
 down to snatch a little sleep. 
 
 The messengers returned; Mr. Johnson and 
 his Eastern friend were foregathered with 
 Joe Benavides, they reported; there were 
 horses in evidence six horses. Mr. Dewing 
 rose and took station to watch the jail from a 
 safe place ; he saw Stanley come out with Bo- 
 land. The so-called lumbermen had provided 
 horses in the meanwhile. Unostentatiously, and 
 at a safe distance, the three followed the caval 
 cade that set out from the Benavides house. 
 
 Dewing posted his lumbermen in relays 
 one near th entrance of Robles Pass; one be 
 yond the R E Ranch, which they circled to 
 avoid ; himself following the tracks of the four 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 295 
 
 friends until he was assured, beyond doubt, 
 that they shaped their course for the landmark 
 of Baboquivari Peak. Then he retraced his 
 steps, riding slowly perforce, lest any great 
 dust should betray him. In the burning heat 
 of noon he rejoined Scotty, the first relay; he 
 scribbled his telegram on the back of an old 
 envelope and gave it to Scotty. That worthy 
 spurred away to the R E Ranch; the hour for 
 concealment was past time was the essence 
 of the contract. Dewing followed at a slowed 
 gait. 
 
 Scotty delivered the telegram to his mate, 
 who set off at a gallop for Tucson. Between 
 them they covered the forty miles in four hours, 
 or a little less. Before sunset an auto set out 
 from Silverbell, bearing the message to Cobre. 
 
 At that same sunset time, while Pete John 
 son and his friends were yet far from Coyote 
 Pass, Mayer Zurich, in Cobre, spoke harshly 
 to Mr. Oscar Mitchell. 
 
296 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "I don t know where you get any finger in 
 this pie," he said implacably. "You didn t 
 pay me to find any mines for you. You hired 
 me to hound your cousin; and I ve hounded 
 him to jail. That lets you out. I would n t 
 push the matter if I were you. This is n t New 
 York. Things happen providentially out here 
 when men persist in shoving in where they re 
 not wanted." 
 
 "I have thought of that," said Mitchell, 
 "and have taken steps to safeguard myself. 
 It may be worth your while to know that I 
 have copies of all your letters and reports. I 
 brought them to Arizona with me. I have left 
 them in the hands of my confidential clerk, at 
 a place unknown to you, with instructions to 
 place them in the hands of the sheriff of this 
 county unless I return to claim them in person 
 within ten days, and to proceed accordingly." 
 
 Zurich stared at him and laughed in a coarse, 
 unfeeling manner. "Oh, you did, hey? Did 
 you think of that all by yourself? Did it ever 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 297 
 
 occur to you that I have your instructions, 
 over your own signature, filed away, and that 
 they would make mighty interesting reading? 
 Your clerk can proceed accordingly any time 
 he gets good and ready. Go on, man! You 
 make me tired ! You ve earned no share in this 
 mine, and you ll get no share unless you pay 
 well for it. If we find the mine, we ll need 
 cash money, to be sure; but if we find it, we 
 can get all the money we want without yours. 
 Go on away! You bother me!" 
 
 "I have richly earned a share without put 
 ting in any money," said Mitchell with much 
 dignity. "This man Johnson, that you fear so 
 much I have laid him by the heels for sev 
 eral years to come, and left you a clear field. 
 Is that nothing?" 
 
 "You poor, blundering, meddling, thick 
 headed fool," said Zurich unpleasantly; "can t 
 you see what you ve done? You ve locked up 
 our best chance to lay a finger on that mine. 
 Now I ll have to get your Cousin Stanley out 
 of jail; and that won t be easy. 11 
 
298 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 " What for?" 
 
 "So I can watch him and get hold of the 
 copper claim, of course." 
 
 "Why don t you leave him in jail and hunt 
 for the claim till you find it?" demanded law 
 yer Mitchell, willing to defer his triumph until 
 the moment when it should be most effective. 
 
 Find it? Yes; we might find it in a million 
 years, maybe, or we might find it in a day. 
 Pima County alone is one fourth the size of the 
 State of New York. And the claim may be in 
 Yuma County, Maricopa, or Pinal or even in 
 Old Mexico, for all we know. We feel like it 
 was somewhere south of here; but that s only a 
 hunch. It might as well be north or west. And 
 you don t know this desert country. It s sim 
 ply hell! To go out there hunting for any 
 thing you happen to find that s plenty bad 
 enough. But to go out at random, hunting for 
 one particular ledge of rock, when you don t 
 know where it is or what it looks like that is 
 not to be thought of. Too much like dipping 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 299 
 
 up the Atlantic Ocean with a fountain pen to 
 suit me! * 
 
 "Then, by your own showing," rejoined 
 Mitchell triumphantly, " I am not only en 
 titled to a share of the mine, but I am fairly 
 deserving of the biggest share. I met this igno 
 rant mountaineer, of whom you stand in such 
 awe, took his measure, and won his confidence. 
 What you failed to do by risk, with numbers 
 on your side, what you shrink from attempting 
 by labor and patience, I have accomplished by 
 an hour s diplomacy. Johnson has given me full 
 directions for finding the mine and a map." 
 
 "What? Johnson would never do that in a 
 thousand years!" 
 
 "It is as I say. See for yourself." Mitchell 
 displayed the document proudly. 
 
 Zurich took one look at that amazing mapi 
 then his feelings overcame him; he laid his- 
 head on the table and wept. 
 
 Painful explanation ensued; comparison 
 with an authentic map carried conviction to 
 Mitchell s whirling mind. 
 
300 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 " And you thought you could take Johnson s 
 measure?" said Zurich in conclusion. "Man, 
 he played with you. It is by no means certain 
 that Johnson will like it in jail. If he comes 
 back here, and finds that you have not been 
 near your cousin, he may grow suspicious. 
 And if he ever gets after you, the Lord have 
 mercy on your soul! Well, there comes the 
 stage. I must go and distribute the mail. Give 
 me this map of yours; I must have it framed. 
 I would n t take a fortune for it. Tinhorn 
 Mountain! Dear, oh, dear!" 
 
 He came back a little later in a less mirth 
 ful mood. Had not the crestfallen Mitchell 
 been thoroughly engrossed with his own hurts, 
 he might have perceived that Zurich himself 
 was considerably subdued. 
 
 "It is about time for you to take steps 
 again," said Zurich. " Glance over this letter. 
 It came on the stage just now. Dated at 
 Tucson last night." 
 
 Mitchell read this: 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 301 
 
 DEAR MISTER: Johnson is back and no pitch 
 hot. Look out for yourself. He over-reached me ; 
 he knows who got Bat Wiley s money, and he can 
 prove it. 
 
 He thinks I am doing a dive for Mexico. But 
 I m not. I am watching him. I think he means to 
 make a dash for the mine to-night, and I m going 
 to follow him till I get the direction. Of course he 
 may go south into Mexico. If he does he 11 have 
 too big a start to be caught. But if he goes west, 
 you can head him off and cut sign on him. Slim 
 is at Silverbell, waiting with a car to bring you a 
 wire from me, which I ll send only if Johnson 
 goes west, or thereabouts. If I send the message 
 at all, it should follow close on this letter. Slim 
 drives his car like a drunk Indian. Be ready. 
 Johnson is too much for me. Maybe you can han 
 dle him. D. 
 
 "I would suggest Patagonia," said Zurich 
 kindly. "No; get yourself sent up to the pen 
 for life that ll be best. He would n t look 
 for you there." 
 
 Zurich found but three of his confederacy 
 available Jim Scarboro and Bill Dorsey, 
 the Jim and Bill of the horse camp and the 
 shooting match and Eric Anderson ; but 
 
302 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 these were his best. They made a pack; they 
 saddled horses; they filled canteens and 
 rifles. 
 
 Slim s car came to Cobre at half-past nine. 
 The message from Dewing ran thus: 
 
 For Fishhook Mountain. Benavides, S., J., 
 and another. Ten words. 
 
 Five minutes later the four confederates 
 thundered south through the night. At day 
 light they made a change of horses at a far- 
 lying Mexican rancheria, Zurich s check pay 
 ing the shot; they bought two five-gallon kegs 
 and lashed them to the pack, to be filled when 
 needed. At nine in the morning they came to 
 Fishhook Mountain. 
 
 Fishhook Mountain is midmost in the great 
 desert; Quijotoa Valley, desolate and dim, lies 
 to the east of it, gullied, dust-deviled, and for 
 lorn. 
 
 The name gives the mountain s shape two 
 fishhooks bound together back to back, one 
 prong to the east, the other to the west, the 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 303 
 
 barbs pointing to the north. Sweetwater 
 Spring is on the barb of the eastern hook; three 
 miles west, on the main shank, an all but im 
 passable trail climbed to Hardscrabble Tanks. 
 
 At the foot of this trail, Zurich and his party 
 halted. Far out on the eastern plain they saw, 
 through Zurich s spyglass, a slow procession, 
 heading directly for them. 
 
 "We ve beat em to it!" said Eric. 
 
 That country out there is washed out some 
 thing terrible, for all it looks so flat," said Jim 
 Scarboro sympathetically. " They ve got to 
 ride slow. Gee, I bet it s hot out there!" 
 
 "One thing sure," said Eric: "there s no 
 such mine as that on Fishhook. I ve pros 
 pected every foot of it." 
 
 "They ll noon at Sweetwater," said Zurich. 
 "You boys go on up to Hardscrabble. Take 
 my horse. I 11 go over to Sweetwater and hide 
 out in the rocks to see what I can find out. 
 There s a stony place where I can get across 
 without leaving any trail. 
 
304 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 " Unsaddle and water. Leave the pack here, 
 you d better, and my saddle. They are not 
 coming here nothing to come for. You can 
 sleep, turn about, one watching the horses, and 
 come on down when you see me coming back." 
 
 It was five hours later when the watchers 
 on Hardscrabble saw the Johnson party turn 
 south, up the valley between barb and shank 
 of the mountain; an hour after that Zurich 
 rejoined them, as they repacked at the trail 
 foot, and made his report: 
 
 "I could n t hear where they re going; but 
 it is somewhere west or westerly, and it s a day 
 farther on. Say, it s a good thing I went over 
 there. What do you suppose that fiend John 
 son is going to do? You would n t guess it in 
 ten years. You fellows all know there s only 
 one way to get out of that Fishhook Valley 
 unless you turn round and come back the way 
 you go in?" 
 
 " I don t," said Bill. " I ve never been down 
 this way before." 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 305 
 
 "You can get out through Horse-Thief Gap, 
 way in the southwest. There s a place near 
 the top where there s just barely room for a 
 horse to get through between the cliffs. You 
 can ride a quarter mile and touch the rocks on 
 each side with your hands. Johnson s afraid 
 some one will see those tracks they re makin 
 and follow em up. I heard him tellin it. So 
 the damned old fool has lugged dynamite 
 all the way from Tucson, and after they get 
 through he s going to stuff the powder behind 
 some of those chimneys and plug Horse-Thief 
 so damn full of rock that a goat can t get over," 
 said Zurich indignantly. "Now what do you 
 think of that? Most suspicious old idiot I ever 
 did see!" 
 
 "I call it good news. That copper must be 
 something extraordinary, or he d never take 
 such a precaution," said Eric. 
 
 Zurich answered as they saddled: 
 
 "If we had followed them in there, we 
 would have lost forty miles. As it is, they gain 
 
306 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 twenty miles on us while we ride back round 
 the north end of the mountain, besides an hour 
 I lost hoofing it back." 
 
 "I don t see that we ve lost much," said 
 Jim Scarboro. "We ve got their direction and 
 our horses are fresh beside of theirs. We ll 
 make up that twenty miles and be in at the 
 finish to-morrow; we re four to four. Let s 
 ride." 
 
 Tall Eric rubbed his chin. 
 
 "That Benavides," he said, "is a tough one. 
 He is a known man. He s as good as Johnson 
 when it comes to shooting." 
 
 "I m not afraid of the shooting, and I m 
 not afraid of death," said Zurich impatiently; 
 "but I am leery about that cussed old man. 
 He ll find a way to fool us see if he don t! " 
 
 A strong wind blew scorching from the 
 south the next day; Johnson turned aside from 
 the sagebrush country to avoid the worst sand, 
 and bent north to a long half-circle, through a 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 307 
 
 country of giant saguaro and clumped yuccas; 
 once they passed over a neck of lava hillocks 
 thinly drifted over with sand. The heat was 
 ghastly; on their faces alkali dust, plastered 
 with sweat, caked in the stubble of two 
 days growth; their eyes were red-rimmed 
 and swollen. Boland, bruised and racked and 
 cramped, suffered agonies. 
 
 It was ten in the morning when Joe touched 
 Pete s arm: 
 
 "Que cosa?" He pointed behind them and 
 to the north, to a long, low-lying streak of dust. 
 "Trouble, Don Hooaleece? I think so yes." 
 
 They had no spyglass; but it was hardly 
 needed. The dust streak followed them, al 
 most parallel to their course. It gained on 
 them. They changed their gait from a walk to 
 a trot. The dust came faster; they were pur 
 sued. 
 
 That was a weird race. There was no run 
 ning, no galloping; only a steady, relentless 
 trot that jarred poor Boland to the bone. 
 
308 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 After an hour, during which the pursuers 
 gained steadily, Pete called a halt. They took 
 the packs from the led animals and turned 
 them loose, to go back to Fishhook Mountain; 
 they refilled their canteens from the kegs and 
 pressed on. The pursuit had gained during the 
 brief delay; plainly to be seen now, queer little 
 bobbing black figures against the north. 
 
 They rode on, a little faster now. But at the 
 end of half an hour the black figures were per 
 ceptibly closer. 
 
 "They re gaining on us," said Boland, 
 turning his red-lidded eyes on Stan. "They 
 have better horses, or fresher." 
 
 "No," said Stan; "they re riding faster 
 that s all. They have n t a chance; they can t 
 keep it up at the rate they re doing now. 
 They re five miles to the north, and it is n t far 
 to the finish. See that huddle of little hills in 
 the middle of the plain, ahead and a little to 
 the south? That s our place, and we can t be 
 caught before we get there. Pete is saving our 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 309 
 
 horses; they re going strong. These fellows 
 are five miles away yet. They ve shot their 
 bolt, and they know it." 
 
 He was right. The bobbing black shapes 
 came abreast held even fell back came 
 again hung on, and fell back at last, hope 
 lessly distanced when the goal was still ten 
 miles away. Pete and his troop held on at the 
 same unswerving gait trot, trot, trot ! The 
 ten miles became nine eight seven 
 
 Sharp-eyed Benavides touched Pete s arm 
 and pointed. "What s that? By gar, eet is a 
 man, amigo; a man in some troubles! 1 
 
 It was a man, a black shape that waved a 
 hat frantically from a swell of rising ground a 
 mile to the south. Pete swerved his course. 
 
 "You ve got the best horse, Joe. Gallop 
 up and see what s wrong. I m afraid it s 
 Jackson Cam" 
 
 It was Jackson Carr. He limped to meet 
 Benavides; the Mexican turned and swung 
 his hat; the three urged their wearied horses 
 to a gallop. 
 
310 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 " Trouble? 7 said Pete, leaping down. 
 
 " Bobby. I tied up his pony and hobbled 
 the rest. At daylight they was n t in sight. 
 Bobby went after em. I waited a long time 
 and then I hobbled off down here to see. 
 Wagon s five or six miles north. One of my 
 spans come from down in Sonora, somewhere 
 Santa Elena, wherever that is and I 
 reckon they re dragging it for home and the 
 others have followed, unless unless Bob s 
 pony has fallen, or something. He did n t 
 take any water. He could follow the tracks 
 back here on this hard ground. But in the sand 
 down there with all this wind " His eye 
 turned to the shimmering white sandhills 
 along the south, with the dust clouds high 
 above them. 
 
 "Boland, you ll have to give Carr your 
 horse," said Pete. "It s his boy; and you re 
 most dead anyhow. We ll light a big blaze 
 when we find him, and another on this edge of 
 the sandhills in case you don t see the first. 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 311 
 
 We ll make two of em, a good ways apart, 
 if everything is all right. You take a canteen 
 and crawl under a bush and rest a while. You 
 need it. If you feel better after a spell, you 
 can follow these horse tracks back and hobble 
 along to the wagon; or we can pick you up as 
 we come back. Come on, boys!" 
 
 " But your mine?" said Carr. He pointed to 
 a slow dust streak that passed along the north. 
 "I saw you coming two bunches. Ain t 
 those fellows after your mine? Cause if they 
 are, they ll sure find it. You ve been riding 
 straight for them little hills out there all alone 
 in the big middle of the plain." 
 
 "Damn the mine!" said Pete. " We ve been 
 playing. We ve got man s work to do now. No; 
 there s no use splitting up and sending one or 
 two to the mine. That mine is a four-man job. 
 So is this; and a better one. We re all needed 
 here. To hell with the mine! Come on!" 
 
 They found Bobby, far along in the after- 
 
312 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 noon, in the sandhills. His lips were cracked 
 and bleeding; his tongue was beginning to 
 blacken and swell ; his eyes were swollen nearly 
 shut from alkali dust, and there was an ugly 
 gash in the hair s edge above his left ear; he 
 was caked with blood and mire, and he clung 
 to the saddle horn with both hands but he 
 drove six horses before him. 
 
 They gave him, a little at a time, the heated 
 water from their canteens. A few small drinks 
 cheered him up amazingly. After a big soap- 
 weed was touched off for a signal fire, he was 
 able to tell his story. 
 
 "Naw, I ain t hurt none to speak of; but 
 I m some tired. I hit a high lope and catched 
 up with them in the aidge of the sandhills," he 
 said. "I got em all unhobbled but old Heck; 
 and then that ornery Nig horse kicked me in 
 the head damn him ! Knocked me out quite 
 a spell. Sun was middlin high when I come to 
 horses gone, and the cussed pony trailed 
 along after them. It was an hour or two before 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 313 
 
 I caught sight of em again. I was spitting 
 cotton a heap. Dad always told me to carry 
 water with me, and I sure was wishing I d 
 minded him. Well, I went way round and 
 headed em off and, dog-gone, they up and 
 run round me. That Zip horse was the ring 
 leader. Every time, just as I was about to get 
 em turned, he d make a break and the rest 
 would follow, hellity-larrup! Old Heck has cut 
 his feet all to pieces with the hobbles old 
 fool! I headed em four or five times five, I 
 guess and they kept getting away, and run 
 ning farther every time before they stopped 
 and went to grazing. After a while the pony 
 snagged his bridle in a bush and I got him. 
 Then I dropped my twine on old Heck and 
 unhobbled him, and come on back. Give me 
 another drink, Pete." 
 
 They rode back very slowly to the northern 
 edge of the sandhills and lighted their two 
 signal fires. An answering fire flamed in the 
 north, to show that Boland had seen their 
 signals. 
 
3 H COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 " I reckon we ll stop and rest here a while 
 till it gets cooler," observed Pete. "Might as 
 well, now. We can start in an hour and get in 
 to the wagon by dark. Reckon Frank Boland 
 was glad to see them two fires! I bet that boy 
 sure hated to be left behind. Pretty tough 
 but it had to be done. This has been a thun- 
 derin hard trip on Frankie and he s stood up 
 to it fine. Good stuff!" He turned to the boy: 
 "Well, Bobby, you had a hard time wranglin 
 them to-day but you got em, did n t you, 
 son?" 
 
 "That s what I went after," said Bobby. 
 
 . Boland stiffened after his rest. He made two 
 small marches toward the wagon, but his tor 
 tured muscles were so stiff and sore that he 
 gave it up at last. After he saw and answered 
 the signal fires he dropped off to sleep. 
 
 He was awakened by a jingling of spurs and 
 a trampling of hoofs. He got to his feet hur 
 riedly. Four horsemen reined up beside him 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 315 
 
 not Pete Johnson and his friends, but four 
 strangers, who looked at him curiously. Their 
 horses were sadly travel-stained. 
 
 1 Anything wrong, young man? We saw 
 your fire?" 
 
 "No not now." Boland s thoughts were 
 confused and his head sang. He attributed 
 these things to sleepiness; in fact, he was sick 
 ening to a fever. 
 
 You look mighty peaked," said the spokes 
 man. "Got water? Anything we can do for 
 you?" 
 
 "Nothing the matter with me, except that 
 I m pretty well played out. And I ve been 
 anxious. There was a boy lost, or hurt I 
 don t know which. But it s all right now. 
 They lit two fires. That was to be the signal 
 if there was nothing seriously wrong. I let the 
 boy s father take my horse man by the 
 name of Carr." 
 
 "And the others? That was Pete Johnson, 
 was n t it? He went after the boy?" 
 
316 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "Yes. And young Mitchell and Joe Bena- 
 vides." 
 
 Zurich glanced aside at his companions. 
 Dorsey s back was turned. Jim Scarboro was 
 swearing helplessly under his breath. Tall 
 Eric had taken off his hat and fumbled with it; 
 the low sun was ruddy in his bright hair. Per 
 haps it was that same sun which flamed so 
 swiftly in Zurich s face. 
 
 " We might as well go back/ he said dully, 
 and turned his horse s head toward the little 
 huddle of hills in the southwest. 
 
 Boland watched them go with a confused 
 mind, and sank back to sleep again. 
 
 " Jackson," said Pete in the morning, "you 
 and Frank stay here. I reckon there ll be no 
 use to take the wagon down to the old claim; 
 but us three are going down to take a look, 
 now we ve come this far. Frank says he s 
 feeling better, but he don t look very peart. 
 You get him to sleep all you can. If we should 
 
COPPER STREAK TRAIL 317 
 
 happen to want you, we ll light a big fire. So 
 long!" 
 
 "Don Hooaleece," said Benavides, very 
 bright-eyed, when they had ridden a little way 
 from camp, " how is eet to be? Eef eet is war I 
 am wis you to ze beeg black box." 
 
 "Joe," said Pete, "I ve dodged and crept 
 and slid and crawled and climbed. I ve tried 
 to go over, under, and around. Now I m 
 going through." 
 
 They came to the copper hill before eight. 
 They found no one; but there were little stone 
 monuments scattered on all the surrounding 
 hills, and a big monument on the highest point 
 of the little hill they had called their own. 
 
 "They ve gone," said Stan. "Very wise of 
 them. Well, let s go see the worst." 
 
 They dismounted and walked to the hilltop. 
 The big monument, built of loose stones and 
 freshly dug slabs of ore, flashed green and blue 
 in the sun. Stan found a folded paper between 
 two flat stones. 
 
3i8 COPPER STREAK TRAIL 
 
 "Here s their location notice/ he said. 
 
 He started to unfold it; a word caught his 
 eye and his jaw dropped. He held the notice 
 over, half opened, so that Pete and Joe could 
 see the last paragraph: 
 
 And the same shall be known as the Bobby Carr 
 Mine. 
 
 WITNESSES LOCATORS 
 
 Jim Scarboro Peter Wallace Johnson 
 
 William Dorsey Stanley Mitchell 
 
 Eric Anderson 
 C. Mayer Zurich 
 
 " Zere is a note," said Joe; " I see eet wizzin- 
 side. 
 
 Stanley unfolded the location notice. A note 
 dropped out. Pete picked it up and read it 
 aloud : 
 
 PETE: We did not know about the boy, or we 
 would have helped, of course. Only for him you 
 had us beat. So this squares that up. 
 
 Your location does not take in quite all the hill. 
 So we located the little end piece for ourselves. 
 We think that is about right. * 
 
 Yours truly 
 
 C. MAYER ZURICH 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or 
 
 on the date to which renewed. 
 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 
 
 REC D 
 
 
 DEC 26 65 1PM 
 
 
 LOAN DEPT, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 NOV 141966 3 2 
 
 
 DECEIVED 
 
 
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 r tui rir"nT 
 
 
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 AUG 8 1973 
 
 
 
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 LD 21A-60?n,-10, 65 
 (F7763slO)476B 
 
 General Library 
 
 University of California 
 
 Berkeley 
 
copper Streak trail 
 
 FR20393 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY