Kit Carson made no movement nor answer; he continued leaning against the adobe wall, his strong arms folded across his chest. After a few moments the half-breed recovered from his frenzy; but his eyes still gleamed, his fingers opened and shut like the claws on an animal. “Yes,” said he, nodding his head slowly. “I did ask you to come here; and I meant to deal honestly with you, too. But it’s too late! I’ve been an idiot; and I’ve been robbed!” “Of the map!” Dave Johnson made a step forward. “Yes; of the map,” replied Lopez. “I began to boast of the great luck I had. I showed the map to Moccasin Williams. He is a miner of experience. He had heard stories of gold in California, and had always wanted to go there. Later, while I was asleep, he robbed me.” He sank down upon a heap of hides, his hands covering his face; from his manner one who did not know the merits of the case would have considered him an honest man grievously wronged. “A river of flowing gold,” wailed Goat Beard. “Yellow, beautiful gold! And now we will never know where it is. We shall never see it--never gather a nugget, never a grain of its dust.” After this outburst there was a moment’s silence; then Kit Carson spoke. “So Moccasin Williams now has the map,” said he. “Have you any idea where he is?” The half-breed leaped up. “If I had, would I be here?” asked he, his eyes aflame. “Would I not be stepping in his tracks and hoping for the moment which would bring me up with him?” “Have you searched the town?” “I have. To-morrow I go to Taos. Then the settlements all through the hills will be searched. I have friends who will help me. There’s not an Indian village but will come under our eyes, or hide him from us. And when I find him----” Here his gesture finished the sentence--a gesture as deadly in its meaning as the coiling of a rattlesnake. After a few moments more in the storehouse of Goat Beard, the three Americans left. “The map is gone, sure enough,” said Kit, as they went slowly down the street. “And that this blackguard Moccasin Williams has it, is more than likely.” “But is Lopez to escape punishment?” asked Dave, who tingled with a desire to bring the half-breed to book for what he had done, and the labor, the anxiety, the peril he had caused them. Kit shook his head. “Santa Fé is only a frontier town,” said he. “And what little law there is is Mexican, and Mexican law don’t go very far in favor of an American. There are men who’d take the thing in their own hands and deal with Spotted Snake as Spotted Snake says he’ll deal with this man Williams if he ever puts his eyes on him; but we are not that kind. We’ll wait; for who knows what will happen, and maybe before a great while.”