“‘Plenty more where those came from,’ he’d say.

“Wa’al, they set a watch on him and found that he always headed off inter ther desert by way of Smith Mountain, which would be the nat’ul way of gettin’ ter ther three buttes that Peg-leg had described.

“Guv’ner Downey he come to hear about this in course of time, and he come down frum Sacramento to question ther Injun.  But in ther meantime ther pesky coyote had gone and got himself killed in a quarrel over cards and so there they was up agains’ a blank wall ag’in.”

The old prospector paused to fill his pipe.

CHAPTER XXIV.

“THE THREE BUTTES.”

“The Injun bein’ dead, the guv’ner did the nex’ best thing.  He questioned his squaw.  But she couldn’t tell ’em much ’cept that the Injun told her he got his last water at t’other side of Smith Mountain and then traveled toward ther sun till erbout mid-afternoon when he found mucho, mucho oro.

“The guv’ner made two or three tries to locate them buttes, but he failed.  Then come along a man named McGuire, who said he knew where the buttes was and showed black rocks with gold in ’em to prove it, jes’ like the ones Peg-leg and ther Injun had found, they was.  Well, McGuire he gets five other dern fools and off they starts and that’s the end of them.  They ain’t never heard of ag’in.

“Then comes a prospector who gets lost, and in hunting for water finds these same three buttes and the black, gold-specked rocks that are scattered about.  But he wasn’t bothering about gold just then, so he keeps on and in time finds the water hole at the foot of Smith Mountain.

“He comes back to Los Angeles and tries to organize a company to go to ther three buttes.  But he falls ill and when he learns he’s goin’ ter die he tells Dr. De Courcy, that’s his physician, that he knows whar Peg-leg’s lost mine is an’ gives him a map an’ directions.  Arter ther man dies, Dr. De Courcy spends all his money trying ter find ther buttes, but he fails.  Then comes a young chap named Tom Cover of Riverside.  He’s wealthy and fits out a dozen or more outfits to hunt fer ther three buttes.  But after setting out on his twelfth trip he never comes back, so they know that Peg-leg Smith’s mine has claimed another victim.”

“Is there anything to prove that Peg-leg really ever found the Three Buttes?” asked Tom, whom this romance of the desert, like his companions, had strangely interested.

“You tell ’em, Zeb,” said the old man.  “Likely they wouldn’t believe me.”

“Proofs?” said Zeb, “plenty of ’em.  The records of the old Bank of San Francisco show that McGuire deposited thousands of dollars’ worth of gold nuggets there, and my old dad knew Peg-leg Smith and saw the black rocks with the gold fillings that he brought out uv ther desert.  Them three golden buttes is out thar somewhar’s, and some day somebody’s goin’ to locate ’em and then there’ll be another millionaire in the country.”