“Oh, he’ll be back in a minute. He’s all right. Say, kid, who is your friend, anyway, and what brought him here. Come, now, tell me the truth.” “I always tell the truth, sir. His name is Mr. Morris Goldberg, and he is a shoemaker from New York. A man came there--Mr. ‘Cactus Bill’--and another man shot him in the back. I saw him, and the bad man took Dora away. The bad man had another bad man along and that man hit me here--see--and they carried Dora away; and Bennie--that’s Dora’s steady company--don’t know where we are.” “‘Cactus Bill,’ you say? What became of him?” “Mr. Goldberg had a funeral for him, ’cause he had no friends. ‘Cactus Bill’ gave Mr. Goldberg a paper that he said was about a gold mine out here and it was for him, and when all of Mr. Goldberg’s money was spent, looking for Dora, we came here to find the mine so, maybe, we could get some more money. Say, what ails Mr. Goldberg this morning?” “What shall never ail you, little man, if I can help it,” said Shoshone contritely. “Ahem! Have you had your breakfast yet?” “No, sir; not yet.” “Well, come along and we’ll have our breakfast together, and you shall tell me all about this Dora, and all, while we eat.” “I thought I saw you at the table when I took Jake back. Say, he looks fine this morning. You ought to see him.” Shoshone slapped his leg with his hat in great enjoyment of something, but all he said was: “Folks have to eat a lot out here.” “I believe you,” said Loney, “for I’ve been hungry ever since we hit the trail. And so is Mr. Goldberg, only he pretends he isn’t. Business isn’t very good in his line out here,” added the child reflectively. Then they went, hand in hand, to the dining-room, Shoshone feeling a distinct thrill of pleasure at the confiding clasp of those little fingers. Loney felt a great confidence in this big man who had such kind eyes. Neither of them would have felt so happy had they seen the two evil faces peering at them from between two great rocks half-covered by creeping vines. As Shoshone and the child disappeared into the house, the two men came down to the ground, and John, with a face white with anger, hissed: “You liar! You see the boy is not dead! That Jew is here, seeking his daughter, and the fool she was to marry! All in the same house with us! A fine fix you have got us in!” “I t’ought I’d croaked him! He fell like a lump o’ lead, and when I dragged him he never moved. What’s to be done? Say it, and I’ll do it.” “Our lives are not worth a wisp of straw! If these rough Westerners had but an inkling of this, we’d adorn that lone tree over there in a short time. They have such absurd notions about women here.” “Say, don’t talk like dat. It gives me a sore t’roat. Say, what’s the matter of turning the gal loose. She’s daffy, anyhow, and if dey find her it’ll be all right, and, if dey don’t, de mountain lions will find her for sure.”