"We'll make a detour, Clan," said Merry, "and come up on the ranch from the rear. There are only two of us, you know, and we will have to proceed with care if we don't want to spoil everything." "Sure," Clancy promptly assented. "We'd better leave our machines in the brush somewhere, and move up on the adobe on foot. If we don't, McGurvin will hear us." This plan was carried out. The motor cycles were left at a safe distance, and the lads crept cautiously forward under the screen of McGurvin's corral. Corn was growing in the irrigated truck patch, and Merry and Clancy got into it and moved upon the house. Presently they began to hear voices; then, catching a glimpse of McGurvin's hitching pole, they saw a saddle horse secured there. "Looks like our man was here already," Merry whispered in his chum's ear. "Where is the talking coming from?" returned Clancy. "It seems pretty close." "We'll find out." On hands and knees the boys crept on, screened by the broad leaves of the corn. Presently Merry reached the edge of the cornfield, and paused. The shady side of the house was not over twenty feet from him, and there comfortably seated, was a florid, flashily dressed, red-mustached person. Opposite him, in another chair, was not less a personage than Professor Phineas Borrodaile. He was looking over his glasses in consternation at the man with the red mustache. Grouped in the background were McGurvin and two flannel-shirted, rough-looking Arizonians. It had been a happy inspiration of Merry's to hasten on ahead of the cowboys. It was not afternoon, yet already the stage was set and the play for the professor's claim was being made. Clancy gripped his chum tensely by the arm. They did not speak, even in whispers, but crouched at the edge of the corn and watched and listened. "Yes, indeed," the professor was saying, in his cracked voice, "you aver rightly, Mr. Heppner, that this is a remarkable country, most remarkable. Over in the Picket Post Mountains, if you please, I have seen misty island-like protuberances, resembling greatly the post-pliocene crannoges of the Roscommon loughs. Now--" "Call off the dog, professor," interrupted Heppner. "I'm a government agent, and I'm here on business. See? You didn't know you'd jumped a mining claim belonging to McGurvin, but such is the fact. This will have to be straightened out, or the responsibility will rest heavily upon you. Now, speaking personal, I'd hate a heap to see you sent to jail, seeing as how you're in this country for your health. Jails ain't a health resort, by any manner of means. What do you propose to do about this?" "Dear me!" murmured Borrodaile, taking off his hat and rubbing the top of his bald head. "I am not dishonest, gentlemen. I assure you that I want only to do what's right. The claim I located was discovered by my nephew; and I am his next of kin. I supposed, you understand, that it was rightfully mine."