The woman watched them, as the famous outlaw walked down the path beside her husband, whose tall, gaunt form made Allen seem smaller than ever. Behind them trotted Allen's two gray horses. One was saddled and the other carried a small pack. Mrs. Howes felt no fear now for her husband; those two low-hung guns that Allen wore brought her a feeling of confidence that her man would return safely. Dusk had given way to night by the time the two arrived in Goldville. The miners were streaming into town, and the saloons were rapidly filling. Most of the miners were Mexicans, but there were a few husky, broad-shouldered Americans among them. Allen left his grays at the hitching rack before the Ace High and followed Pop Howes through the milling crowd toward the post office. Pop entered and then reappeared a moment later with a letter in his hand. Allen watched him as he ripped it open and read it by the light cast from the office window. "Huh! It's supposed to be good news, an' Pop acts like it was an invitation to a funeral," Jim grumbled. "He's sure a bum actor!" After Pop had consumed a few drinks, an optimistic conviction came to him that this plan of Allen's, although he did not know just what it was, would work and the little outlaw would save his mine. So he no longer _acted_ the part of a man who has just been saved from disaster, but in reality _felt_ like one. "Hello, Pop!" Bill Tucker greeted him. "Yuh look like the cat what just swallered the canary!" "I sure feel all set up. Have a drink. I'm sorta celebrating." The two drained their glasses, and Pop ostentatiously drew the letter from his pocket, glanced at it, and then returned it, with a self-satisfied smile. The ruse worked perfectly. "Did yuh get good news in the mail to-night?" the marshal asked. "You betcha!" Pop hesitated and then added in a whisper: "I ain't supposed to say nothin'--for some reason the gent wants me to keep it under my shirt--but he's goin' to buy a quarter interest in the American Beauty for five thousan' dollars!" "Who is he? Who's the darn fool?" Bill Tucker's genial manner dropped from him like a cloak, and he snapped out the question. "He ain't no darn fool! He's connected with the bank an' knows that the youngster what examined the American Beauty reported I'm due to hit the El Dorado lode!" Pop said aggrievedly and convincingly. "What's this gent's name?" Tucker asked. "I ain't tellin' that!" Pop shook his head. "Reckon I better have a look aroun'," the marshal said as he swung around and headed toward the door. Then, as an afterthought, he called back over his shoulder: "I'm darn glad yuh got the money."