She felt Mrs. Vining's body stiffen. "No--that is--no, I'm not sure. I don't know." Mrs. Horne cleared her throat and offered the sort of consolation we are apt to accord our friends. "You know, Judy, dear, what everybody said when Harry left. Of course, I knew it was all his own fault and his drinking. I never did believe what people said--" "No, of course you didn't," said Mrs. Vining, with a trace of bitterness. They fell silent again. At last Mrs. Vining moved. "She's so sweet," she murmured. Shortly afterwards she kissed Mrs. Horne and rose to go to her own room. "Stay here, Judy. You won't bother me." "No, but you'll bother me. You snore dreadfully." "Judy, that's a lie," Mrs. Horne cried after her. By Hetty's orders, Lafe accompanied us to The Tanks when Mrs. Vining departed. A truly womanly stab, this, in victory. And the Burro express bore Mrs. Vining away, the conductor winking at Lafe from the platform of the last car, his countenance sad and composed. We watched him take his cap off in order to mop his brow and Mrs. Vining waved her glove at us. Then we turned our horses about. Mrs. Horne shed a few tears and instructed Manuel to whip the team, lest she be late home for supper. The Burro express crawled away up the valley. At a point six miles from The Tanks, an unkempt man with matted hair flung a stone through the window of the last car. Later I came on him on a mesa and he was counting the tops of the hills. CHAPTER XXVIII RECONCILIATION--MRS. VINING EXPERIENCES A CHANGE OF HEART We were to see more of our mathematician who haunted The Hatter. On a day, the rider who brought our mail twice weekly, delivered a fat letter to Mrs. Horne. She read it with open mouth and called her husband into consultation behind closed doors. Shortly afterwards they summoned Lafe, and in about an hour, he sent for me. "I've got to go fetch that locoed prospector," he confided. "Will you help?" "Why not get some of the boys to round him up?" I objected, for the mail had brought some personal business that required thought. "They might be rough with him. No, sir; we've got to bring him in gentle, Dan. It's the queerest story I ever done heard. Say, don't women do queer things? I swan, I can't figure 'em." All of the afternoon and next morning we rode the slopes of The Hatter. Then suddenly we saw him. The prospector was catching grasshoppers. He made to run as we approached, but Lafe spurred his horse and headed him off. Seeing escape barred, he stood still and waited, not without dignity--if a man who is clutching a fist-full of grasshoppers can possess dignity. "What do you want?" he demanded. "Say, you speak French, don't you?" "I can speak five languages, sir," said the prospector pompously. And he began to patter German.