“Reckon not,” said Sagebrush reflectively. “Mesquite was headin’ for town, and him and me would sure collide. That might spoil your hand. And say! I remember that brother o’ yours. I seen him with Mesquite one time. He looked a heap like you do ’thout them spec’s and all.” Tompkins produced his pocket flask, opened it and held it out. “Here’s to our luck, Sagebrush! Good hunting!” With a grunt of delight, Sagebrush lifted the flask and absorbed his share of the contents; Tompkins finished it off, undisturbed by any thought of rock scorpions, eyed the empty glass container, and with a laugh tossed it into the clump of trees. “Then I’m off. I’ll be back in the morning. Have to send that deed to be recorded. Anything you want from town?” Sagebrush wiped his lips and nodded. “Yep. There’s jest one feller there ye can trust—Haywire Johnson, up to the hotel. Register that deed and send by him and tell him to shet up about it. Otherwise, that durned Hassayamp will poke his nose into it. Then tell Haywire to give you that there gun he’s keepin’ for me. I don’t aim to carry more’n one gun these days, not havin’ much use for it, and Haywire has been keepin’ my other one. I’ll mosey up this yere cañon and have breakfast ready for ye in the mornin’. Git out early.” With another nod, Tompkins climbed into his car, started the engine, and started away. He knew well enough that Sagebrush would carefully avoid meeting Hassayamp and Miss Gilman. What most stirred in his mind, however, as he headed for town, was that mention of his brother and Mesquite Harrison—and Mesquite was now in town. Taken in conjunction with Crowfoot’s recommendation, here was a chance not to be missed. “I’ll sure interview Mr. Harrison and give him the time of his life before I’m done with him!” thought Tompkins, and he glanced at the sun. “Hm! I can get to town and clean up everything before supper. Then I’ll want to see Miss Gilman. She must be persuaded to get out of here at once. Hm! Queer how old Sagebrush showed up. To all appearance, he’s a comic-supplement character; put him on a city street and he’d gather a crowd—but how many of that crowd would last a week with him on the Mohave? These smart Alecs back East who think Europe is better than America and who part their hair the way the Prince of Wales does it, and who look on everyone west of Newark, N. J. with supreme contempt—wouldn’t I like to see ’em get out in the desert with old Sagebrush, though! They’d find out what sort of man it was who made this country what she is.” It did not occur to him that in undertaking to play a lone hand against the Hourglass Cañon gang, he was likewise carrying out certain traditions of Americanism. CHAPTER VII The First State Bank of Stovepipe Springs had no banking hours, but was open whenever Sidewinder Crowfoot was there. It was nearly supper-time when Percival Henry J. Tompkins entered; and Sidewinder gazed at him in astonishment. “Thought you were off bug-hunting!”