“More than likely,” suggested the super, “his fancy for Frieda was only a blind. It’s possible that he has had an eye on the cyanid bullion ever since he struck the Three-ply.” “Faith,” said McGowan, “I can size a man up pretty well, and if that Dutchman is crooked I’ll be a mightily surprised man.” “You say, Mr. McGowan,” said Jacobs, “that it is up to me to explain. Well, if that Dutchman doesn’t know anything about the bar, I can’t explain. In justice to me, sir, you ought to overhaul him on the trail, and find out whether he knows anything about the gold.” McGowan was thoughtful for a moment. “There’s reason in that, Jacobs,” he answered. “I’ll wrong no man, if I can help it, with unjust suspicions; but, as between you and the Dutchman, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Go to the corral and get three horses.” A gleam of triumph darted into Bernritter’s eye, and was telegraphed to Jacobs, as the latter left the office. McGowan stepped to the door and made a trumpet of his hands. “Frieda!” he shouted. The girl appeared in the door of the chuck-shanty, and McGowan motioned for her to come to the office. An order from the “boss” was to be obeyed instantly, at all times, and Frieda hurried across the intervening stretch and came breathlessly into the room where the two men were sitting. “Vat id iss, Misder McGowan?” asked Frieda. “I’d like to have you tell me what you know about the Dutchman, Schnitzenhauser, who seems to have been tied to your apron-strings during the last few days?” “Ach, he iss a fine chentleman, I bed you!” declared Frieda. “I presume so,” said McGowan dryly. “Bedad, it looks like he’d made something of an impression on you.” “Impression, iss id? Vell, meppy; only I don’d tell him dot.” Frieda blushed, and snickered, and then grew very much confused, dropped her eyes, and pulled the edge of her apron through her plump fingers. “Where did he come from?” asked McGowan. “He say dot he come from Yuma,” was the stifled response. “Yuma!” muttered Bernritter. “Why, they have a penitentiary at Yuma. Possibly the Dutchman broke away from there and----” Frieda lifted her head quick enough, at that. Her eyes snapped, and she stamped her foot. “You t’ink he vas a chailpird, huh?” she cried fiercely. “Vell, you haf some more t’inks coming. He iss a chentleman, I tell you.” “His full name is----” began McGowan, then stopped inquiringly. “Villum von Schnitzenhauser,” cried the girl, throwing back her shoulders proudly, “und he iss a baron ven he iss at home in der Faterland.” She folded her arms. “_Now_, I bed you,” she said, with an angry flash at the super, “you von’t say dot he iss some chailpirds! A baron! Ha! Baron von Schnitzenhauser, und a pedder man as you, Nade Pernritter.” “Baron!” sneered the super. “Bosh! That makes me think more than ever that he’s crooked.” He turned to McGowan. “The Dutchman wouldn’t tell the girl such a yarn as that if he was straight.”