"I'm safer here alone than I would be in St. Louis or Chicago," exclaimed Charley, leaning back in her chair with a little laugh. "Now tell me what you are going to do after your Sun Plant begins to pump water?" "Try to get money interested in developing this and other waste countries. There are untold mineral riches in these ranges, if only there were a cheap way to get them out. Now don't get excited as Crazy Dutch did and shoot me up! By the way, he told me his name was Otto von Minden." Charley nodded. "I believe he comes of good family. He speaks the finest kind of Berliner German. Poor old thing!" Roger snorted. "I'll _poor_ him when I catch him! I'll have him committed to an asylum." Charley laughed. "You'd have hard work getting that done. Asylums are rare here and every one is fond of the little German. I wish I knew as much as he does about German literature. Some day I'm going to Germany. It must be a wonderful country." "Did you learn German in college?" "In High School and the University both. I'd like to have had some French too, but there were no native French teachers and I didn't fancy learning French with somebody's accent plus my own. On the other hand the German teachers and the courses they offered were fine. I feel as if I knew more about Germany than any other country outside the United States." "So do I," replied Roger, thoughtfully. "I think that instead of getting Crazy Dutch committed you'd better get to know him," Charley went on. "He's so well connected in Germany, in spite of his forlorn appearance, he might prove a valuable acquaintance for you." Roger, whose wrath against Von Minden had disappeared much to his own astonishment, nodded his head, and once more silence fell between them. It was ten o'clock when Roger next observed the inexorable hand of the alarm clock. "I wish I'd never learned to tell time," he said as he rose reluctantly, "and I wish you'd tell me as much about yourself as I've told you about me." "There's so little to tell," protested Charley. "Oh, there's a great deal to tell," contradicted Roger. "The chief thing being why the desert has changed you from a chatterbox to a Sphinx." "That you'll never know! Run along home now before the coyotes or Von Minden get you." Roger grinned and said good night. He was up with the birds the next morning, prepared to give a long day's work to cleaning the well and covering it. It was not yet noon when he saw a curious procession moving toward the camp along the Archer's Springs trail. It appeared to consist of a small string of burros, led by a bright red or pink umbrella.