Sandy dismally shook his head and drifted away in the tracks of Piute. But Murray, who was operating with the interests and future of Bill Hobbs in view, continued his labors. He was enjoying himself, sating his archæological cravings, as it were. Having rescued Bill Hobbs from an aimless existence of more or less criminality, he felt that if Hobbs now had leanings toward settled life in this spot, he should be aided and encouraged thereto. Murray was not oblivious of a sense of responsibility; besides, he had a real affection for the earnest Willyum. He explored the place thoroughly. Coming in from the outside world, in touch as he had been with the prices of things, he was astonished to find that the shop must have been well stocked up shortly before the demise of the late proprietor. The ink-rack was filled with tubes and tins; a gasolene drum reposed in the corner; news print paper was stacked high in a closet, ready cut, and there were two untouched rolls; bond and job paper of all kinds was in abundance. The large foot-power job press seemed new and good, while the cutter and other varied machines were in fair condition, type racks, furniture, stones--all the paraphernalia of a printing establishment were here. Murray was not so sure about the press, and with reason. This was an ancient and much mended relic, a flat-bed hand-power creation such as made Ben Franklin famous; an instrument such as is keenly sought after by dilettanti print-artists who love good work, and shunned by those who seek commercial results. "Looks to me as though Willyum can step right in and take hold," thought Murray. "He can learn to set type easily enough--he'll have to! There's a place to sleep in back, and he can rustle his own meals. I guess Bill can manage." Returning to the hotel, he took a chair beside Piute and Sandy, and was talking idly when Claire Lee appeared in the doorway. "Mr. Tomkins!" she exclaimed. "How can I get off some letters and telegrams?" "Give 'em to me," said Piute. "Stage comes in next week." "Next week!" Dismay filled the girl's face. "But--but these are important! They must go off at once!" Piute pulled at his mustache and frowned. "Sho!" he exclaimed. "If I'd knowed that this mornin', you could ha' sent 'em by Deadoak. He took my hoss an' rode over to Meteorite." Mackintavers gave Murray a significant glance, followed by a wink. "But surely," persisted the girl, "there must be some way----" "There is," said Piute encouragingly. "If ye don't want to take 'em yourself in that car, why, I reckon Shovelface Ryan would saddle up and ride over for five dollars. He's the helper up to the blacksmith shop. Shovelface done set off a blast too soon one time and it plumb disorganized his talkin' and hearin' apparaytus, but if Stiff Enger is around he can interpret for ye." The girl hesitated an instant, then came out into the sunlight and walked up the street.