Pete considered young Stan through half-closed lids--a tanned,
smooth-faced, laughing, curly-headed, broad-shouldered young giant.

"You got any enemies, pardner?"

"Not one in the world that I know of," declared 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 letters 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?"

"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 inconvenient