"I heard some of 'em gassin' about that rig o' yours," he remarked. "Said she was a hummer all 'round. That it there? Mind if I look her over?" "Not at all." Oliver was quick to grasp at any chance that might lead to the big question and its answer. Old Man Selden's leather chaps whistled his legs to the corner, where he stood, long arms at his sides, gazing at the saddle, the bridle, and the martingales. His deep breathing was the only sound in the room. Outside, Oliver heard foot-steps, and suspected that the investigation of his spring was on. At last Adam Selden made a move. He changed his position so that his spacious back was turned toward Oliver. Quietly Oliver leaned to one side in his chair, and he saw the cowman's big hand outstretched toward the gem-mounted _concha_ on the left-hand side of the bridle--saw thumb and fingers turn that part of the bridle inside-out. Again the room was soundless. Then Selden turned from the exhibit, and Oliver grew tense as he noted the strange pallor that had come on the old man's face. "That's a han'some rig," was all he said, as he sank to his chair and laid a letter on the oilcloth-covered table. The letter contained the information that its recipient had claimed, and was signed Elmer Standard. Oliver quickly passed it back, remarking: "He's entirely wrong, and ought to know it. I have had occasion to look into the legal aspect of water rights in California quite thoroughly, and fortunately am better posted than most laymen are on the subject." But the chief of the Poison Oakers was scarce listening. In his blue eyes was a faraway look, and that weird grey pallor had not left his face. Suddenly he jerked himself from reverie, and, to Oliver's surprise, a smile crossed his bearded lips. "Just so! Just so! I judge ye're right, Mr. Drew--I judge ye're right," he said almost genially. "Anyway you an' me'd be out-an'-out fools to fuss over a matter like that. There's plenty water fer the cows, an' I oughtn't to butted in. But us ol'-timers, ye know, we--Well, I guess we oughta be shot an' drug out fer the cy-otes to gnaw on. I won't trouble ye again, Mr. Drew. An' I'll be ridin' now with the boys, I reckon. Ye might ride up and get acquainted with my wife an' step-daughter--but I guess ye've already met Jess'my. I've heard her mention ye. Ride up some day--they'll be glad to see ye." And Oliver Drew was more at a loss how to act in showing him out than when he had first faced him on the porch. The Poison Oakers, with Old Man Selden at their head, rode away up the cañon. Oliver Drew was throwing the saddle on Poche's back two minutes after they had vanished in the trees. He mounted and galloped in the opposite direction, opening the wire "Indian" gate when he reached the south line of his property. An hour later he was searching the obscure hills and cañons for Sulphur Spring, but two hours had elapsed before he found it.