“Of course--it’s too late for that, but--Oh, well----” He broke off abruptly and walked toward the shaft as Osborne beckoned. Gregory stood a moment, his head bent forward. He had experienced the sensation of coming into contact with an electrical wave. But he was smiling pleasantly as he joined his guest at the shaft house. After the visit to the mine, during which he amiably pointed out the dip of the vein toward his own property, and Mr. Robinson succumbed to the charm which never missed fire when Gregory chose to exert it, they walked back to the ranch, where a team awaited the ambassador at the foot of the hill. “I’ve had quite a delightful visit,” began Mr. Robinson, when Gregory interrupted: “I’ve no intention of letting you go. You must have supper at the farm and meet Oakley. I’ll send off the rig and drive you in myself----” “Oh, I couldn’t think of troubling you----” Robinson, red again, stood in almost agitated embarrassment. “No train to Butte till nine-thirty. You don’t want to spend four hours in Pony?” “The fact is----” But whatever he had on his mind died on his lips. He looked sharply into the bland smiling eyes opposite, and concluded abruptly, “All right. Many thanks. Glad of the chance to know you better.” He paid off the driver of the team and they walked toward the ranch house, Gregory commenting on Oakley’s genius for dry farming, and expatiating upon the excellence of the crops. Mining was not mentioned again during the evening and the lawyer enjoyed an excellent supper. Gregory drove him to Pony, and clung to him so closely that he had no opportunity to visit the telegraph office or a telephone booth. They shook hands cordially as the train moved off. When it was out of sight Gregory sent a telegram to Mark telling him to take the first train next morning for Virginia City and meet him in the Court House. He took his car to a garage and spent the night in Pony. On the following morning at nine o’clock he walked into the Tax Collector’s office at the County Seat. XXV The County Treasurer, who had just come in, looked blank for a moment, then greeted his visitor with effusive cordiality. “Always glad to see you, Mr. Compton. It does a poor clerk’s heart good just to look at a man who’s such a favourite of fortune. Sit down, sir.” “I will. I’ve a good deal to say.” “Staked off the rest of your ranch? It’ll be some little time yet before you get those patents through you’ve applied for already----” “What do the taxes foot up on the Oro Fino Primo Mine?” “Ah--What?” The man’s face turned scarlet, then white. He was a young man, clerically able, but otherwise insignificant. “Why----” Then he became voluble. “The Primo mine, over there near your place? It’s a new claim, isn’t it? Never heard of it before those fellows from New York sank a shaft and struck it rich. Why should there be any taxes before the regular----”