“Met up with two fellers in the Salt Pans—ol’ Hardrock Miller from Tucson, and another feller. Hardrock used to be a Mormon ’fore they run him out of Arizona for bein’ too durned Mormonistic. He tells me Hassayamp used to be one too, away over to St. John’s, ’bout fifteen year back. ’Cordin’ to him, Hassayamp vanished real sudden one night, and so did all the money belongin’ to the church, and several head of hosses belongin’ to other folks. May not be true, though. Hardrock Miller saved hisself from bein’ lynched once by tellin’ the truth, and aint never done it since. Afraid his luck’d turn, maybe.” Tompkins smiled. “Know a fellow by the name of Mesquite Harrison?” “Do I?” Sagebrush scowled and spat again. “Is that skunk in town? Then by gosh, I’m goin’ for him!” The desert rat shot a hand to his waistband, where there was a swelling about the size of a revolver. “Why, Perfesser, Mesquite is rank pizen! Yessir. I’ve knowed him to rob prospectors of their grub—it’s a fact! And once he changed the signs over in the Salt Pans, so’s a poor pilgrim took his team the wrong way and durned near died, and that skunk Mesquite robbed him bare. By gosh, anybody who changes water-hole signs in the Salt Pans gits shot on sight! Mesquite knows it, too. He don’t come to town when I’m due, usually—” “He’s not here now,” said Tompkins. “I heard the name mentioned; that’s all. I’ve bought a flivver, and I wish you’d purchase all supplies necessary and get them loaded into the back seat. Strap her down good. We can get off in the morning.” “Gosh!” said Sagebrush, a far-away look in his eyes. “It’ll seem lonesome as hell without them burros—well, s’pose I got to do it. Where we goin’ to?” “Don’t know yet.” “I’d sort o’ like to look over them ledges jest this side the Chuckwallas—over by Pinecate Cañon,” said the desert rat thoughtfully. “Can we find any _crotalus cerastes_ there?” “I reckon so. Find most anything there.” Sagebrush inspected his employer curiously. “Say, you aint so bad a feller when you git off to yourself, Perfesser. You talk real human. Kind of put on dog when there’s any folks around, don’t you?” Tompkins laughed. “I expect I do, Sagebrush. How about water over by that place you mentioned—Pinecate Cañon?” “Plenty right now. Rains aint only jest quit. Another two weeks, and we wont find nary a drap. Cañon ought to look right pretty; too, with the flowers. The desert sure is handsome this time o’ year. All the bugs comin’ out,’ too, so’s you’ll feel to home. Lots o’ tumblebugs over by the mesa and cañon—that’s how come it’s called Pinecate, bein’ the Mex name for tumblebug.” “Ever hear of a fellow named Ramsay, who was interested in mines around here?” “Nope.” Sagebrush rose. “Well, I reckon I’ll go git them supplies, then git my correspondence finished today. See you around sunup tomorrow.”