The storekeeper asked Bill a question which necessitated Bill's personal examination of two brands of bacon; wherefore, he placed Luella on the porch beside Sister Mitchell and went inside to finish making up his load of supplies. When he emerged with a sack of flour on his shoulder and three sides of bacon under one arm, Luella was riding up the platform on Sister Mitchell's back and telling her to "git a move on." At the other end of the porch a small audience stood laughing at the performance. "What'll you take for that parrot, Hopeful?" a man asked, grinning. "Same price you ask for your oldest kid," Bill retorted, and returned for another load from the store. "Make that strike yet?" another called, as Bill came out with his arms full. "You bet! Solid ledge of gold, Jim. Knock it off in chunks with a single-jack and gadget. Bring you a hunk next trip in--if I can think of it." "Hate to hang by the heels till you do," Jim retorted. "Hate to have you," Bill agreed placidly, stepping over Luella and her mount that he might deposit his load on the edge of the porch. "What yuh got out there, anyway?" Jim persisted curiously. "You aren't packing all that grub out in the desert just to eat in the shade of a Joshuway tree. What yuh got?" "Hopes." Bill bent and slid a sack from his shoulder to the pile of supplies. "Outcropping of lively looking rock, Jim. Good indications. I'm hoping it'll turn out something, maybe, when I get into it a ways." "Get an assay on it?" Jim's curiosity was fading perceptibly. The same old story: lively looking rock, indications; desert rats all came in with that elusive encouragement. "Trace of silver, two dollars in gold," Hopeful Bill replied. "I'm hoping it'll run into higher values when I hit the contact." "What contact you got?" Jim's tone was plainly disparaging. "You can't bank too strong on values at contact, Bill." "Well, this looks pretty fair," Bill argued mildly. "A showing of quartzite,--if it's in place; which I'm digging to find out. Nothing lost but a little sweat and powder, if I don't hit it. I can eat as cheaply in the hills as I can here. Cheaper." From under his dusty hat brim he sent a glance toward the restaurant across the street. "And I know it's clean. I like to have eat a fly, this noon." "Why didn't you try the Waffle Parlor? They've got screens." "My own cooking suits me just fine," Bill returned amiably. "All right, if you like that kinda life," Jim carped. "I should think you'd want to get _into_ something, Bill. You aren't any has-been----" "Nope, I'm a never-was," Bill retorted shamelessly. "And a going-to-be," he added with naïve assurance. "You mark that down in your book, Jim. Some day you're going to brag about knowing Bill Dale. Some day your tone's going to be hearty and your hand'll be out when you see me coming. You guys will all of you be saying you knew me _when_."