“‘And lately, by the tavern door agape, Came shining through the dusk an Angel Shape bearing a vessel on his shoulder; And he bid me taste of it; and ’twas the Grape.’” “Omar,” said Judge, “had the right idea, but in our case it was prune-juice and horse liniment. Have a small portion, sir.” “About three inches in a bath-tub,” nodded Henry soberly. * * * * * Tonto City was not greatly perturbed over the murder of Old Ben Todd. Henry gave the will to John Campbell, the prosecutor, who said that if Ben left anything of value it must be given to Violet La Verne. Henry went to the county recorder’s office and looked over the records, but Ben Todd had not recorded a mining claim for over a year. * * * * * Later in the day he found the girl in the honkatonk at the King’s Castle, and sat down with her. Violet had little resemblance to her namesake. She was of undeterminate age, blonde, by choice, with dark roots showing. “Did you call me over to buy me a drink?” she asked curiously. “I have no objections, my dear,” said Henry soberly, “but alcohol was not my main reason. You knew Old Ben Todd, I believe.” “Yes. I grub-staked him. Gave him fifty dollars. He said he’d cut me in on any strike he made.” “You knew he was killed last night, did you not?” Her eyes narrowed a little. “I heard he was,” she nodded. “It is true, my dear--he was murdered. But evidently Ben Todd was as good as his word--he--that is, you are his sole heir. He wrote a will, in which you get everything he had.” “He did, eh?” Violet leaned across the table. “What?” “Who knows? I understand that he made a rich strike.” “He was throwing money around. That is, he was throwing gold. It must have been a rich strike--don’t you think?” “Didn’t he tell you where it was?” asked Henry. Violet shook her head. “He didn’t tell me anything. But if he made a strike, he must have--I don’t know what you call it--” “Recorded it?” asked Henry, and she nodded quickly. “That’s what I meant,” she said. “He must have done that.” “Unfortunately--no,” said Henry quietly. “I examined the record book, and Ben Todd did not record his location notice--if he ever made one out. My dear lady, I’m afraid that it will go down in history as the Lost Todd mine, along with many more.” Violet La Verne looked bleakly at Henry. “Then I don’t get anything for my fifty bucks, eh?” “The clothes he had on, a pocket-knife, a six-shooter, very old and very battered, a mule--I believe. I’m not sure of the mule--but who is? Oh, yes, about twenty .45 caliber cartridges, somewhat corroded. I believe that covers his assets.” Violet La Verne got up from the table. “What about that drink?” said Henry. But Violet La Verne walked away, not even looking back. Mack Greer, the new manager of the place, came over and sat on the edge of the table. Greer was rather handsome, tall, slender.