“He didn’t believe my uncle owned any property here. Didn’t know what he might have back East. Close-mouthed codger, he was. “My own idea all along had been that my uncle had a secret mine. I put this up to Quinliven. Secret mine? Rubbish! No one could work a secret mine in this country--where everything was known; where the smoke of the strange camp fire was something of vital interest, to be looked into at once; where every cowpuncher had the time, ability and inclination to follow up any strange track. “Fat chance, when all the freight from a country as big as an Eastern state was handled through one depot! Everybody knew all ore shipped--where it came from and what it run. Rubbish! Placer mines? ‘Mai dear-r sir-r, to wash placer dirt, you must have water; and where water is, in New Mexico, is a frequented and public place.’ Nuggets? Pish! Bosh! Nowt! “I questioned my uncle’s banker and his lawyer. Great astonishment. Nothing knowing. Mr. Bennett showed me the joint account of Quinliven & Drake, with a very small balance. My uncle kept no private account; he knew of no other investment my uncle had made; no such sums as I mentioned passed through his hands. The lawyer is now trying to solve my problem for me.” “Who’s the lawyer?” “He’s a Mexican--a Mr. Octaviano Baca--and, at first, it seemed a rum start that Uncle Roger should have a native for his attorney. But he’s a live one, all right; a very shrewd, keen person, indeed. Educated, too--good company; witty; speaks English with fluency and precision--much better English than I do. But doubtless you are acquainted with him. He is, I am told, something of a political power, having great influence with the natives.” Neighbor chuckled. He knew what young Drake did not. Octaviano Baca was the Boss--King of Saragossa. “Know him by sight; never met him. But we know all about everything here, even people we’ve never seen. In this country our campfire talks take the place of Bradstreet and Dun, or Who’s Who. Great help. They ain’t afraid to say what they think, them firelighters; and they ain’t afraid to think what they say! We’re all catalogued..... ‘Jones, Neighbor. Good old wagon, but needs greasing. Use no hooks.’... That’s me. I’m mighty proud of that biography too. So it is Baca and Bennett that are looking after your interests?” “Baca alone now,” corrected Ducky. “Bennett helped at first, making inquiries from his business connections, and so on. We thought if we could unearth some investment of my uncle’s we might follow it up; but there was a silly gunplay on the range between Bennett’s men and ours, and Bennett thought he had better withdraw from the investigation; because Quinliven took it up, you know--grouchy old sorehead!--talked pretty rough to Bennett, and took our account over to the other bank.” “What was the trouble about--mavericks?”