"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 assiduously, 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 incredibly 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 bein' myself. You know them
location papers of ours I was to get recorded at Tucson?"

Stanley nodded.

"Well, now," said Pete, "I didn't file them papers. Something real
curious happened on the way in--and I reckon I'm the most superstitious