“Why, no-o—­not to say sick, exactly.  He just can’t seem to get out o’ doors very handy.  He’s sorter on a diet, you might say.”

“Too bad; too bad!  He should have written his friends about it.  None of us knew a word of it.  I’ll write to him to-night and give him a good scolding.”

“Aw, don’t ye do that!” said Pete, twisting his hat in embarrassment.  “I don’t want he should know I told you.  He’s—­he’s kind of sensitive about it.  He wouldn’t want it mentioned to anybody.”

“It’s not his lungs, I hope?”

“Naw!  No thin’ like that.  I reckon what’s ailin’ him is mostly stayin’ too long in one place.  Nothin’ serious.  Don’t ye worry one mite about him.  Change of scene is what he needs more than anything else—­and horseback ridin’.  I’ll yank him out of that soon as I get back.  And now suppose you read his letter.  It’s mighty important to us.  I forgot to tell you me and, Stan, is pardners.  And I’m free to say I’m anxious to see how you take to his proposition.”

“If you will excuse me, then?”

Mitchell seated himself, opened the letter, and ran over it.  It was brief.  Refolding it, the lawyer laid it on the table before him, tapped it, and considered Mr. Johnson with regarding eyes.  When he spoke his voice was more friendly than ever.

“Stanley tells me here that you two have found a very rich mine.”

“Mr. Mitchell,” said Pete, leaning forward in his eagerness, “I reckon that mine of ours is just about the richest strike ever found in Arizona!  Of course it ain’t rightly a mine—­it’s only where a mine is goin’ to be.  Just a claim.  There’s nothin’ done to it yet.  But it’s sure goin’ to be a crackajack.  There’s a whole solid mountain of high-grade copper.”

“Stanley says he wants me to finance it.  He offers to refund all expenses if the mine—­if the claim”—­Mitchell smiled cordially as he made the correction—­“does not prove all he represents.”

“Well, that ought to make you safe.  Stan’s got a right smart of property out there.  I don’t know how he’s fixed back here.  Mr. Mitchell, if you don’t look into this, you’ll be missin’ the chance of your life.”

“But if the claim is so rich, why do you need money?”

“You don’t understand.  This copper is in the roughest part of an awful rough mountain—­right on top,” said Pete, most untruthfully.  “That’s why nobody ain’t ever found it before—­because it is so rough.  It’ll cost a heap of money just to build a wagon road up to it—­as much as five or six thousand dollars, maybe.  Stan and me can’t handle it alone.  We got to take some one in, and we gave you the first show.  And I wish,” said Pete nervously, “that you could see your way to come in with us and go right back with me, at once.  We’re scared somebody else might find it and make a heap of trouble.  There’s some mighty mean men out there.”

“Have a cigar?” said the lawyer, opening a desk drawer.