Babe Deveril, sauntering here and there, identified himself with no group; it was his preference always to hunt singly. But he went everywhere, his mind and ears and eyes co-ordinating in the work he set them. He listened to rumors and sifted them and went on to newer and always contradictory rumors. It was said that Mexicali Joe had been killed, his body found in a ravine three miles from town; that Gallup had spirited him off last night into the mountains; that Joe had made his strike in the old and long-deserted mining camp of Timkin's Bar; that his specimens had come from Lost Woman's Gulch; that Joe had never stirred a mile from Big Pine in his latter prospecting, and that, therefore, at any moment any one of the thousand gold seekers might stumble upon his prospect hole. It was said that Joe's pay-dirt would run twenty dollars to the ton, and while this was being advanced as though by one who knew all about it, another man was saying that it would run a thousand dollars. Deveril, when he had heard a score of empty though colorful tales, turned at last to the Gallup House; Gallup and Taggart knew all that was to be known, and, although they had the trick of the shut mouth and steady eye, there was always the chance of a sign to be read by the watchful. He came upon Gallup himself standing in his doorway, looking out thoughtfully upon the road jammed tight with restless men. "Hello, Gallup," he said. Gallup regarded him briefly; again his gaze flicked away. "Don't remember me, eh?" queried Deveril lightly. "No," said Gallup, curt in his preoccupation. "I don't." "Must have something disturbing on your mind," suggested Deveril as genially as though Gallup's attitude had been exactly opposite what it was. "Haven't looked in on you for half a dozen years, but you ought to remember." Gallup's eyes came back slowly, a frown in them, and the other concluded: "Known as Deveril ... Babe Deveril, formerly of Cherokee...." Gallup showed a quick, unmistakable sign of interest and Deveril laughed. But Gallup's frown darkened and there came a sudden compression to his lips. "I got you, Kid," he said sharply. "You said it: There is a thing or two on my mind and I've got no time for gab. Just the same, take this from me: A certain Bruce Standing has been sent word the town can get along without him showing his face; and maybe, being his cousin, you'll trail your luck along with him." "So you and Bruce Standing are still playing the nice little parlor game of slap-the-wrist, are you?" Deveril jeered at him. But, still highly good-humored, he went on: "He's no cousin of mine, Gallup. You've got the family tree all mussed up. What fault is it of mine if a thousand years ago Bruce Standing and I had the same murdering old pirate for ancestor? At that, Standing descended from him in the straight line and I am somewhat less directly related." Gallup snorted. "None of Standing's breed is wanted in my place," he said emphatically.