"I heard down in Goldpan," he squeaked one night, "that Wells Fargo takes out five or six bars of bullion for him every mill clean-up. And you can bet none of it ever gets away from that old stiff." "But how does this news leak out?" Dick asked, wondering at such a tale, when millmen and miners were distinguished for keeping inviolate the secrets of the property on which they worked. "Wells Fargo," the engineer answered. "None of the boys would say anything. He pays top wages and hires good men. Got to hand that to him. He brags there ain't no man so high-priced that he can't make money off'n him--Bully Presby does. And they ain't no better miner than him on earth. He can smell pay ore a mile underground--Bully Presby can." The old man suddenly looked at the superintendent, and said: "Say, Bill. You been down to the camp a few times, ain't you?" "Yes, we've been down there several times. Why?" "Well, I suppose you know they's a lot of talk goin' around that the Cross is workin' in good pay now?" "Oh, I've heard it; but don't pay any attention when it's not so." Bells Park leaned farther over, and lowered his shrill, garrulous voice to a thin murmur. "Well, I cain't tell you what it is, but I want to give you the right lead. When that gets to goin' on about newcomers in the Blue Mountains--fellers like you be--look out for storms." "Go on! You're full of stuff again!" Bill gibed, with his hearty laugh. "If we'd listened to all the mysterious warnin's you've handed us since we came up here, Bells, we'd been like a dog chasin' his tail around when it happened to be bit off down to the rump and no place to get hold of. Better look out! Humph!" The old engineer got up in one of his tantrums, fairly screamed with rage, threatened to leave as soon as he could get another job, and then tramped down the hill to the cabin he occupied with the other engineer. But that was not new, either, for he had made the same threat at least a half-dozen times, and yet the men from the Coeur d'Alenes knew that nothing could drive him away but dismissal. It was but two or three days later that the partners, coming from the assay-house to the mess late, discovered a stranger talking to the men outside under the shade of a great clump of tamaracks that nestled at the foot of a slope. They passed in and sat down at their table, wondering who the visitor could be. The cook's helper, a mute, served them, and they were alone when they were attracted by a shrill, soft hiss from the window. They looked, and saw Bells Park. Nothing but his head, cap-crowned, was visible as he stood on tiptoe to reach the opening. "I told you to look out," he said warningly. "Old Mister Trouble's come. Don't give anything. Stand pat. A walkin' delegate from Denver's here. God knows why. Look out."