“You old duffers ain’t right in your minds,” said Judson to Andy McCann. “Just as loco as you can be. Ye never did make a strike and ye never will——” “Lots you know about it, Bill,” grumbled McCann, his jaws moving stiffly. “Well, you never did, did you?” demanded the storekeeper, with twinkling eyes. “If you were yere twenty years ago——” “You know derned well I was, Andy,” put in Judson. “Reckon I was. And before.” “You recommember the flood then?” “I ain’t lost my mem’ry,” muttered Judson. “All right. Keep _that_ in yer mind,” said Andy, shaking his head in senile fashion. “There was a discovery made that year that you—nor nobody else in Canyon Pass—knowed anything about. Talk about the mother lode! Well!” “Is that so?” cried the storekeeper eagerly. “Then why wasn’t it worked? I knowed you and Steve brought in samples of the right stuff; but——” “Steve,” snarled McCann, his whole manner changing. “That derned rat? Him? He didn’t have no more to do with findin’ that vein——Huh! Huh!” He coughed, fell silent, went out of the store, deaf to any further questions. It was Joe Hurley, standing with Hunt on Main Street, who was first to welcome Steve Siebert as he came along, riding his lean mare and towing the burro that looked as though it might have been carved rudely out of desert rock. “Well, old-timer, I certainly am glad to see you,” the mining man said. “What luck?” “Oh, so-so,” croaked the prospector. “Ain’t going to tell us you worked all summer just to get free air?” and Joe chuckled. “Sumpin’ like it,” replied Siebert, and grinned toothlessly. “You do beat my time! Goin’ to come over to the Great Hope? There’s a job for you.” “Mighty nice of you, Joe. I’ll come,” said the old man, nodding. “And not a darn thing to show for all your pickin’ and smellin’ about the Topaz since spring?” “Not what you’d call a bonanza.” “Youbetcha!” ejaculated Hurley. He turned with a grin to Hunt. “Meet Parson Hunt, Steve. We’ve done more in the Pass this summer than you have on the desert. We’ve got us a real parson, and we’re aimin’ to have a sure-enough church.” “That’s a good word,” agreed Steve solemnly, leaning to shake Hunt’s hand. The old man’s palm was as dry and scaly as a lizard’s back. “There’s a heap o’ folks yere that need religion. I understand that derned Andy McCann’s got back.” The gibe was obvious. Joe grinned with appreciation. “Yep,” he said. “And he hasn’t got any more to show for his summer’s work than you have.” “Him!” snarled Steve. “Of course he ain’t. That dumb-head wouldn’t find gold in the mint. No, sir! Never did find any——” “I thought he did make a ten-strike once, but that the slide twenty years ago knocked his claim into a cocked-hat?” “What? Him? Does he say so?” ejaculated Siebert, his wrinkled, tanned countenance flaming angrily. “I heard tell,” and Joe chuckled.