When Mat Bailey drove the stage out of Graniteville the next morning, John Keeler and "Bed-bug Brown" were the only passengers. Brown had spent the previous evening learning all that he could about Mamie Slocum and her young admirers. He had actually learned that a young man from Nevada City who signed himself J. C. P. Collins had paid her attentions. He had also discovered that the young school-teacher had more than once expressed much admiration for Mat Bailey. In view of what Henry Francis had told him of Mat's reflections on the school-teacher, Brown resolved, quietly and of his own accord, to keep an eye upon Mat as well as upon Mamie. The little man was unusually quiet, revolving various theories in his head, and contemplating the magnificence of the ten thousand dollar reward. But the presence of John Keeler, Cummins' old partner, suggested the wisdom of gleaning information from this source. So, in order to impress Keeler with his seniority and larger experience, he began: "You don't remember, I suppose, Mr. Keeler, when camels were introduced here in the gold fields?" "No, that was before my time." "It was back in fifty-six, before the water-ditch companies had fairly got started. It was as dry as Sahara on these mountains then, and it is no wonder somebody thought of camels." "Well, when you think of our ostrich farms, camels don't seem out of place in California. Did you ever think, Mr. Brown, what extremes of climate we have right here in Nevada County? Along about the tenth of December they are cutting ice up in the Sierras while they are picking oranges in the western end of the county." "That is pretty good for the banner gold county of the State. Most of us forget everything but the gold," replied Brown, smiling inwardly, to think how easily this remark would lead up to the desired topic. "I'm getting sick of the gold," replied honest John Keeler. "All that was handy to get at has been carried away. No chance left for a poor man. It takes a big company with capital to run the business of hydraulic mining as they do at Moore's Flat and North Bloomfield. Quartz mining is still worse. By the time you've sunk a shaft and put up a stamping-mill, you've mortgaged your quartz for more than it is worth, perhaps. It takes capital to run a quartz mine." "Yes," assented Brown, "this country has seen its best days." "That's what old man Palmer says," remarked Keeler, looking across the canon at Palmer's Diggings. "You and Cummins did pretty well over there fifteen years ago," and the little detective's eyes twinkled at his own cleverness. "We made a living; that's about all." "But Cummins was a wealthy man some years back." "Well, his partner never was," laughed Keeler. "If I could scrape together the dust, I'd leave these mountains as he tried to." "Who do you suppose the robbers were?" "If I could make a good guess, I'd go after that ten thousand dollar reward," replied Keeler.