I could not understand Margaret’s next remark. "If they do come down after you," said she, "I ’ll tell them——" "Better tell them you did n’t see us go away," interrupted Apache Kid. "Better just don’t see us go away—and then you ’ll be able to speak the truth. You won’t know which way we went." She seemed very sad at this, but George now returned with the saddles, and we were soon ready for the way, our blankets strapped behind. Margaret held up her hand. "Good-bye," she said. "Good-bye, Miss Pinkerton," said Apache Kid. She stretched up and said: "You ’re too good a man to be——" I lost the rest, and, indeed, I was not meant to hear anything. She shook hands with me. "If ever you are in them parts again," she said, "don’t forget us; but you ’ll have to ask for Mrs. Brooks then." Apache was holding out his hand to George, who took it quickly, with averted face. "Good-bye, Mr. Brooks," said Apache Kid. "And, by the way, in case you might think it worth while to have a look at that ore in place, I ’ve left a map of your route to the mountain with Miss Pinkerton, and an account of how you might strike it. You can tell the sheriff of Baker you have it. He and Slim, that lean assistant of his, are the only men who know about the lie of the land; the Indian tracker does n’t count. You can do what you like between you." George seemed nonplussed. "This," said he, "is real good of you, sir; but I don’t know what you do it for." "O!" said Apache Kid. "I told you I had n’t much faith in its value, you remember." "Yes, so you did," said George; but he seemed doubtful, and then suddenly took Apache Kid’s hand again and shook it. "We ’re friends, we two," said he. "Why, sure, you ’re friends," said Margaret, hastily; but her eyes looked out on the road to Baker City, and she seemed listening for some approach. Apache touched his horse, and it wheeled and sidled a little and threw up the dust, and then suddenly decided to accept this new master. My mount was duplicating that performance, and when he got started Margaret gave just one wave of her hand and, taking George by the arm, led him indoors. When we looked back, the house stood solitary in the sand. "What does this mean?" I said. But Apache Kid did not answer, and we rode on and on in silence while the evening darkened on the road to Camp Kettle. But the look on Apache Kid’s face forbade question. *CHAPTER XXIX* _*So-Long*_ You will hardly be astonished to hear that the saloons in Kettle are open night and day. Go there when you please, you need no "knocking-up" of sleepy attendants. The hotel door is never closed.