“Thank us both.  This is my friend Sedgwick, who was to have been our chauffeur.”  The two gentlemen bowed, grinning joyfully.  “My name’s Boland, and I’m to be your first stockholder.  Miss Selden told me about you—­which is my certificate of character.  Come over to the hotel and see Old McClintock.  Miss Selden is there too.  She bawled him out about Nephew Stan last night.  Regular old-fashioned wigging!  And now she has the old gentleman eating from her hand.  Say, how about this Stanley thing, anyway?  Any good?”

“Son,” said Pete, “Stanley is a regular person.”

Boland’s face clouded.

“Well, I’m going out with you and have a good look at him,” he said gloomily.  “If I’m not satisfied with him, I’ll refuse my consent.  And I’ll look at your mine—­if you’ve got any mine.  They used to say that when a man drinks of the waters of the Hassayampa, he can never tell the truth again.  And you’re from Arizona.”

Pete stole a shrewd look at the young man’s face.

“There is another old saying about the Hassayampa, son,” he said kindly, “with even more truth to it than in that old dicho.  They say that whoever drinks of the waters of the Hassayampa must come to drink again.”

He bent his brows at Francis Charles.

“Good guess,” admitted Boland, answering the look.  “I’ve never been to Arizona, but I’ve sampled the Pecos and the Rio Grande; and I must go back ’Where the flyin’-fishes play on the road to Mandalay, where the dawn comes up like thunder’—­Oh, gee!  That’s my real reason.  I suppose that silly girl and your picturesque pardner will marry, anyhow, even if I disapprove—­precious pair they’ll make!  And if I take a squint at the copper proposition, it will be mostly in Ferdie’s interest—­Ferdie is the capitalist, comparatively speaking; but he can’t tear himself away from little old N’Yawk.  This is his first trip West—­here in Vesper.  Myself, I’ve got only two coppers to clink together—­or maybe three.  We’re rather overlooking Ferdie, don’t you think?  Mustn’t do that.  Might withdraw his backin’.  Ferdie, speak up pretty for the gennulmun!”

“Oh, don’t mind me, Mr. Johnson,” said Sedgwick cheerfully.  “I’m used to hearin’ Boland hog the conversation, and trottin’ to keep up with him.  Glad to be seen on the street with him.  Gives one a standing, you know.  But, I say, old chappie, why didn’t you come last night?  Deuced anxious, we were!  Thought you missed the way, or slid down your rope and got nabbed again, maybe.  No end of a funk I was in, not being used to lawbreakin’, except by advice of counsel.  And we felt a certain delicacy about inquiring about you this morning, you know—­until we heard about the big ructions at the jail.  Come over to McClintock’s rooms—­can’t you?—­where we’ll be all together, and tell us about it—­so you won’t have to tell it but the one time.”

“No, sir,” said Pete decidedly.  “I get my breakfast first, and a large shave.  Got to do credit to Stan.  Then I’ll go with you.  Big mistake, though.  Story like this gets better after bein’ told a few times.  I could make quite a tale of this, with a little practice.”