"Quite true," agreed Lennon, and he thrust the revolver into his pocket. "Now, with regard to the lode, our next step will be----" "What'd you say you was to git from your copper company?" broke in Slade, suddenly straight-eyed and cordial. "Twenty thousand bonus for relocating the lode, and----" "You can draw on 'em for it?" "For half, at least. You shall have your ten thousand as soon as you rid the Farleys of Cochise and his gang. That was the agreement." The trader thwacked his beefy hand down on Lennon's shoulder. "That's a go, pard. I own up honest I figgered your talk of copper was all bunk. But I aim to stand by my bargains. Only you're sure now this here lode ain't no blind, are you? You ain't got that gold mine, too, hiding out hereabouts?" "I give you my word, Slade, this is the only mine or lode of which I know." Slade's look was more profane than a spoken curse. "Huh--another El Dorado lie roped and branded. Only thing to do is to go after that bonus of yours." "I must take samples and measurements for my report," said Lennon. "The company does not pay for the guesses of its engineers." None too willingly Slade took the end of the small steel-ribbon engineer's tape that was held out to him. Lennon measured the width of the copper ledges, noted the trend and dip of the immense lode, and calculated its thickness where exposed. Samples were then gathered. Upon the return down the slide the trader suddenly paused to point at the skull of a half-buried human skeleton. "Huh," he grunted. "Cripple Sim didn't have no pard. But look at the pick--another prospector. Must 'a' stumbled on the mine. Lots of good it done him. See that hole? His pard plugged him through the head, streaked out, got lost, died. That's how I figger it." "Poor chap!" Lennon murmured his pity for the murdered man, and he lingered to cover over the skeleton with a pile of loose stones. At the spring he found the Indians cooking another round of flapjacks, bacon, and coffee. After the meal the party waited through the heat of mid-day while the horses cropped the grass along the banks of the spring rill. At first there seemed nothing of interest about the old cabin. The thatch had half blown off; the adobe-plastered stone fireplace and chimney had tumbled down, and sand had drifted in past the broken wattle door. But when Lennon went in to take advantage of the patch of shade that was offered, he was shocked to find the skeleton of a woman huddled in the far corner. Summoned by his call, Slade eyed the skeleton with callous indifference. "Well, what you kicking up such a fuss about?" he growled. "Mebbe it's a squaw--mebbe a white woman. What's the difference? Been dead eight or ten years, by the look of things. Must 'a' got hers same time as the man. We're lucky they didn't git our mine."