“You’re a King, thank God. I’ve watched you grow. Six feet and over, and no water in _your_ blood, by the looks. You’re like I was at your age. Johnny knows. He can remember how I looked when I had two legs. Here. You take these--they’re yours, and all the good you can get out of them. Read ’em both. Read ’em till you get the good that’s in ’em. If you’re a King, you’ll do it.” He held out two worn little books. Rawley took them, eyeing them queerly. One was a Bible, the old-fashioned, leather-bound pocket size edition, with a metal clasp. The other book was smaller; a diary, evidently, with a leather band going around, the end slipping under a flap to hold it secure. “I will--you bet!” Rawley made his voice as hearty as his puzzlement would permit. “Thanks, Grandfather.” “I meant ’em for your father--but he wasn’t the man to get anything out of ’em worth while. A milksop--wore spectacles before he wore pants! His idea of success was to shove money out to other people through a grated window. Paugh! When he told me that was his ambition, I came near burning the books. Johnny could tell you. He stopped me--only time in his life he ever stuck his foot through the wheel of my chair and anchored me out of reach of the fire. Out of reach of my guns, too, or I’d have killed him maybe! Johnny said, ‘You wait. Maybe more Kings come--like Grandfather.’ “So I did wait, and after a while I could watch you grow--all King. I could tell by the set of your shoulders and the tone of your voice and the way you went straight at anything you wanted. So there’s your legacy, boy, from King, of the Mounted. Ask any of the old veterans who King, of the Mounted, was! You read those books.” He lifted a bony finger and pointed. “There’s a lot in that Bible--if you read it careful.” “You bet, Grandfather!” Rawley undid the clasp and opened the book politely. The old man twisted his lips into a sardonic smile. His eyes gleamed, indigo blue, under his shaggy black brows. Then, as if reminded of something forgotten, he dipped into the box, fumbled a bit and held out his hand to Rawley. “You’re a mining expert; maybe you can tell me where I picked them up.” His eyes bored into Rawley’s face. Rawley bent his head over the three nuggets of gold. He weighed them in his hand, turned them to the light of the lamp which Johnny Buffalo had lifted from the table and held close. “Greenhorns think that gold is gold,” Rawley grinned at last. “And so it is--but you left a little rock sticking to this one, Grandfather. So I’ll guess Nevada.” “Hunh!” The old man’s eyes sparkled. “What part?” Rawley glanced up at him with the endearing King smile. “Say, I’m liable to fall down on that! But I reckon King, of the Mounted, will put me flat against the wall before he quits, anyway. So--well, how about Searchlight?”