He spent the evening in going over his notes and outlining a
campaign, and the next day he stumbled on a bit of luck. His
elderly chambermaid had lived in and around the town for years.

"Ever hear of any Livingstones in these parts?" he asked.

"Why, yes. There used to be a Livingstone ranch at Dry River," she
said, pausing with her carpet sweeper, and looking at him. "It
wasn't much of a place. Although you can't tell these days. I
sold sixty acres eight years ago for two thousand dollars, and the
folks that bought it are getting a thousand a day out of it."

She sighed. She had touched the hem of fortune's garment and passed
on; for some opportunity knocked but faintly, and for others it
burst open the door and forced its way in.

"I'd be a millionaire now if I'd held on," she said somberly. That
day Bassett engaged a car by the day, he to drive it himself and
return it in good condition, the garage to furnish tires.

"I'd just like to say one thing," the owner said, as he tried the
gears. "I don't know where you're going, and it's not exactly my
business. Here in the oil country, where they're cutting each
other's throats for new leases, we let a man alone. But if you've
any idea of taking that car by the back road to the old fire station
where Jud Clark's supposed to have spent the winter, I'll just say
this: we've had two stuck up there for a week, and the only way I
see to get them back is a cyclone."