WHEN a careful man blunders he is apt to make thorough work of it. If Brant had suspected the use Harding would make of an uninterrupted quarter of an hour with William Langford, it is safe to assume that no preventive, however heroic, would have failed to commend itself to the rescuer; and he should have foreseen. Any tenderfoot of them all would have been less blunt-witted, he told himself afterward in much bitterness of spirit. But that was after the fact. While he was smoking his cigar on the box and tasting some of the aloe dregs of the cup of lapsings, Harding was making the most of his opportunity. “No, Willie, I can’t say when I may be back in Denver. A man with a big mine on his hands can’t play marbles all the time, you know. Has to look after his ante or they’ll steal him blind.” “Of course,” agreed Will; and then, “Where is your mine?” Now one place is as good as another for the location of purely mythical real estate; but, for safety’s sake, Harding went far afield. “It’s on the other side of the range; in the Silverette district.” “Is that so? Then you must know all about the Jessica. The governor’s got some stock in the Jessica.” “Ye-yes; oh, yes. I know the Jessica, of course. But the Silverette is a big district, you know. My claim isn’t anywhere near the camp, and I’m glad of it. Tough town, is Silverette. And that reminds me, how did you happen to catch on to George Brant?” Truly, Will Langford was a crass young idiot whose ways were very far from being the ways of wisdom, and yet he was not besotted enough to be without an undefined conviction that this smooth-tongued mine owner of pedagogic appearance and profligate habit was not a man to whom family affairs could be properly confided. Wherefore he skirted the question. “I don’t know very much about him. He is a friend of a friend of ours.” “I thought you wasn’t fairly on to him, or you wouldn’t have introduced me,” said Harding, with marked significance. “He is a mighty good man to let alone. You can bet high on that and play to win every time.” The hint accomplished that whereunto it was sent, and Will must needs know more. Harding was crafty enough to make an unspeakable mystery of it until the boy’s curiosity was whetted to the keen edge of demanding the particulars for family reasons. Then Harding told Brant’s story, carefully suppressing his own connection therewith, and weaving evil deeds and worse motives into the narrative with such a skilful admixture of truth as to make it utterly impossible for the ex-reprobate ever to clear himself without denying much that was manifestly undeniable. The carriage was turning into Altamont Terrace when he concluded, and the eager listener had time for no more than a word of thanks. “By Jove, I’m awfully glad you told me about him, Mr. Harding! There are reasons, family reasons, as I said; but I can’t tell you about them now. By gad, if he ever shows up here again I’ll----”