his regular legitimate business. He was headed that way from birth. I
could read the signs."

"What is his present profession?"

"He's an Inspector o' Landscapes."

"You're wrong. He's not a Desert Rat."

"He is. I can prove it."

"He's too young. They don't begin to 'rat' until they're close to
forty. I could name you a dozen, and the youngest is thirty-eight."

"Oh, you're thinkin' o' the ordinary, garden variety. But I tell you
this McGraw man's a Desert Rat. The desert's got him. Generally it
don't get 'em so young, but once in a while it does, An' of all the
Desert Rats that ever sucked a niggerhead cactus, the feller that goes
huntin' lost mines is the worst. They never get over it."

Donna permitted herself a very small smile.

"Sometimes they do" she reminded him.

"I wouldn't be surprised. But not until they've found what they're
lookin' for. However, we'll wait an' see if Bob McGraw--like that name,
Miss Donna?"

"I love it."