"Why, you were up there at the time--the first time I mean. Don't you remember you told us that evening when you were here. And you said people thought the bandits had a cache in the chaparral. Why didn't any of you think of the tules?" "Stupid, I guess," said Mark. "Not a soul thought of them. And it was an A1 hiding-place. Besides the duck shooters, nobody ever goes there." "But somebody _did_ go there," came from Aunt Ellen with a knowing nod. They laughed at that, even Mr. Mayer, who appeared only languidly interested, his eyes on the film of wine in the bottom of his glass. "Who do you suppose it could have been?" asked Chrystie. "A duck shooter, probably." This was Mr. Mayer's first contribution to the subject. Mark was exceedingly pleased to be able to correct this silent and supercilious person. "No, it couldn't have been. The duck season doesn't open till September fifteen, and Knapp said when they went back in six days the cache was empty." He turned to Chrystie. "I've often wondered if it could have been a man I saw that afternoon." As on that earlier visit his knowledge of the holdup had made him an attractive center, so once again he saw the girls turn expectant eyes on him, Aunt Ellen forget her grapes, and even the strange man's glance shift from the wineglass and rest, attentive, on his face. "It was a tramp. He stopped late that afternoon at my father's ranch which gives on the road and asked for a drink of water. I gave it to him and watched him go off in the direction of the trail that leads to the tules. Of course it would have been an unusual thing for him to have tried to get across them, but he might have done it and stumbled on the cache." "Could he have--isn't it all water?" Lorry asked. "There's a good deal of solid land and here and there planks laid across the deeper streams. There _is_ a sort of trail if you happen to know it and a tramp might. It's part of his business to be familiar with the short cuts and easiest ways round." "What was he like?" said Chrystie. "A miserable looking fellow--most of them are--all brown and dusty with a straggly beard. There was one thing about him that I noticed, his voice. It was like an educated man's--a sort of echo of better days." Aunt Ellen found this very absorbing and she and Chrystie had questions to ask. Fong's entrance for the tray prevented Lorry from joining in. As the Chinaman leaned down to take it, she whispered to him to open a window, the room was hot. Her eye, touching Mr. Mayer, had noticed that he had drawn out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead which shone with a thin beading of perspiration. No one heard the order, and Fong, after opening the window, carried the tray into the dining room and left it on the table. When Lorry turned to the others, Mark had proved to Aunt Ellen that the gentleman tramp was a recognized variety of the species, and Chrystie had taken up the thread.