“You’ll be relieved to learn that he’s safe. Now, to answer your question: No, I don’t propose to hold up two men for anything. I propose to deal with the president and treasurer of the North Pinto Gold Mining Company. As a practical mining man you will appreciate the absolute necessity of water in your operations. The nearest available supply is some ten hours distant. Before you could reach it I fear that—er—your company would—er—have gone out of existence. Therefore I am fortunate in being able to offer you a small supply which I will put on the market at the low rate of ten thousand dollars. I may add that—er—certified checks will—er—be accepted.” For two hours the colonel, with the occasional objurgatory assistance of his partner, talked, begged argued, threatened, and even wept. By the end of that time his tongue was making sounds like a muffled castanet, and his resolution was scorched out of him. “You’ve got us,” he croaked. “Here’s your checks. Give me the water.” “In proper and legal form, please,” said Average Jones. He produced a contract and a fountain-pen. The contract was duly signed and witnessed. It provided for the transfer of the water, in consideration of one revolver and ten thousand dollars in checks. These checks were endorsed over to A. V. R. E. Jones, whereupon he turned over the pail of water and the largest canteen to the parched miners. Then, sorting out the checks, he pocketed two aggregating five thousand dollars, tore up three, and holding the other in his hand, turned to Captain Funcke. “Will five hundred dollars pay you for keeping young Hoff down here a couple of months and making the beginning of a man of him?” he asked. “Yes, and more,” replied the captain. “It’s a go,” said Average Jones. “I’d like to make the job complete.” Then, courteously bidding the North Pinto Gold Mining Company farewell, the two water-dealers clambered up the rocks and disappeared beyond the abrupt sky-line. Once again Doctor Conrad Hoff sat in the private office of Average Jones, Ad-Visor. The young man was thinner, browner and harder of fiber than the Jones of two weeks previous. Doctor Hoff looked him over with shrewd eyes. “Say, your trip ain’t done you no harm, has it?” he exclaimed with a boisterous and false good nature. “You look like’ a fightin’-cock. Hope the boy comes out as good. You say he’s all right?” “You’ve got his letter, in which he says so himself. That’s enough proof, isn’t it?” “Oh, I’ve got the letter all right. An’ it’s enough as far as it goes. But it ain’t proof; not the kind of proof a man pays out reward money on,” he added, cunningly. “You say you left Roddy down there with that Funcke feller, hey?” “Yes. It’ll make a man of him, if anything will. I threw that in as an extra.” “Yes; but what about them two crooks that goldbricked him? What’s become of them?” “On their way to Alaska or Bolivia or Corea, or anywhere else, for all I know—or care,” said Average Jones indifferently.