"You say you know that your Aunt Nancy Fleet is named as owner of the property in the county records?" She nodded. "Then she has allowed Adam Selden to believe that she still owns it!" he cried. "And this is proved by reason of her having allowed him to pay the taxes for the right to run stock on the land." She nodded again. He wrinkled his brows. "It would seem to be a sort of conspiracy against Adam Selden by your Aunt Nancy and--" He paused. "And who?" "Well, it's not like my father's business methods to allow a deed to go unrecorded for fifteen years," he told her. "Not at all like Dad. So I must name him as a party to this conspiracy against old Adam. But what is the meaning of it, Miss Selden?" "I'm sure I am not in a position to say," she replied lightly. "Some day, when you've got things to running smoothly down there, I'll take you to see Aunt Nancy. She lives up in Calamity Gap--about ten miles to the north of Halfmoon Flat. Maybe she can and will explain." He regarded her steadily; but for once her eyes did not meet his, though he could not say that this was intentional on her part. "By George, I believe _you_ can explain it!" he accused. "I?" "You heard me the first time." "Did you learn that expression at the University of California or in France?" "I stick to my statement," he grumbled. "Do so, by all means. Just the same, I am not in a position to enlighten you. But I promise to take you to Aunt Nancy whenever you're ready to go. There's an Indian reservation up near where she lives. You'll want to visit that. We can make quite a vacation of the trip. You'll see a riding outfit or two that will run close seconds to yours for decoration and elaborate workmanship. My! What a saddle and bridle you have! I've been unable to keep my eyes off them from the first; but you were so busy with your land puzzle that I couldn't mention them. I've seen some pretty elaborate rigs in my day, but nothing to compare with yours. It's old, too. Where did you get it?" "They were Dad's," he told her. "He left them and Poche to me at his death. I must tell you of something that happened when I first showed up in Halfmoon Flat in all my grandeur. Do you know Old Dad Sloan, the 'Forty-niner?" She nodded, her glance still on the heavy, chased silver of his saddle. Then Oliver told her of the queer old man's mysterious words when he saw the saddle and bridle and martingales, and the stones that were set in the silver _conchas_. She was strangely silent when he had finished. Then she said musingly: "The lost mine of Bolivio. Certainly that sounds interesting. And Dan Smeed, squawman, highwayman, and outlaw. The days of old, the days of gold--the days of 'Forty-nine! Thought of them always thrills me. Tell me more, Mr. Drew. I know there is much more to be told." "I'll do it," he said; and out came the strange story of Peter Drew and his last message to his son.