While Barney McFadden, the barkeeper, surveys Colonel Joseph swallowing his extra cocktail, he admires himself in the mirror. He dusts off his diamond pin with a silk handkerchief. "Jaggers! Oh, yes; know him well. In back room playing pedro. Want him?" Woods bows. The laconic Ganymede drags Jaggers away from his ten-cent game. Impelled by a telegraphic wink, Barney deftly duplicates the favorite tipple of the Californian. The Golden State has been sustained in its growth, by myriads of cocktails. It is the State coat of arms. "Want to see me? Certainly, Colonel." Jaggers is aroused. In a private room, Jaggers wails over his discharge. His pocket is his only fear. Otherwise, he is in Heaven. His life now, is all "Cocktails and poker!" "Poker and cocktails!" It leaves him little time for business. Woods knows his man--a useful tool. "Look here, Jaggers; I know your time is valuable." Jaggers bows gravely; he smells a new twenty-dollar piece; it will extend his "cocktail account." "I want you to do some business for me." Jaggers looks stately. "I'm your man, Colonel," says Jaggers, who is, strange to say, very expert in his line. The trouble with Jaggers is, the saloon is not near enough to Judge Hardin's office. The OFFICE should be in the SALOON. It would save useless walking. "I want you to search a title for me," says Colonel Joe, from behind a cloud of smoke. Jaggers sniffs the aroma. Joseph hands him several "Excepcionales." Jaggers becomes dignified and cool. "Is there money in it, Colonel?" he says, with a gleam of his ferret eyes. "Big money," decisively says Woods. "I'm very busy now," objects Jaggers. He thinks of his ten-cent ante in that pedro game. "I want you to give me your idea of the title to the Lagunitas mine. I am thinking of buying in," continues Joe. "I'll give you five hundred dollars, in cold twenties, if you tell me what you know." "How soon?" Jaggers says, with a gasp. "Right off!" ejaculates Woods, banging the bell for two more cocktails. Jaggers drains the fiery compound. He whispers with burning breath in Woods' ears: "Make it a cool thousand, and swear you'll look out for me. I'll give the thing dead away. You know what a son-of-a-gun Hardin is?" Woods bows. He DON'T know, but he is going to find out. "I'll give you a job in my mine (the Golden Chariot), as time-keeper. You can keep drunk all your life, except at roll-call. If Hardin hunts you up there, I'll have the foreman pitch him down the shaft. Is this square?" "Honor bright!" says Jaggers, extending his palm. "Honor bright!" says Joseph, who dares not look too joyous. Jaggers muses over another cocktail. "You go to the bank, and get a thousand dollars clean stuff. Give me a coup‚. I'll give you the things you want, in half an hour. I've got 'em stowed away. Don't follow me!"