That was a morning which flashed by quickly.  The gleeful history of events in Vesper was told once and again, with Pete’s estimate and critical analysis of the Vesperian world.  Stanley’s new fortunes were announced, and Pete spoke privately with him concerning McClintock.  The coming campaign was planned in detail, over another imported meal.  Stanley was to be released that afternoon, Benavides becoming security for him; but, through the courtesy of the sheriff, he was to keep his cell until late bedtime.  It was wished to make the start without courting observation.  For the same reason, when the sheriff escorted Stanley and Benavides to the courthouse for the formalities attendant to the bail-giving, Pete did not go along.  Instead, he took Frank-Francis for a sight-seeing stroll about the town.

It was past two when, in an unquiet street, Boland’s eye fell upon a signboard which drew his eye: 

THE PALMILLA

THE ONLY SECOND-CLASS SALOON IN THE CITY

Boland called attention to this surprising proclamation.

“Yes,” said Pete; “that’s Rhiny Archer’s place.  Little old Irishman—­sharp as a steel trap.  You’ll like him.  Let’s go in.”

They marched in.  The barroom was deserted; Tucson was hardly awakened from siesta as yet.  From the open door of a side room came a murmur of voices.

“Where’s Rhiny?” demanded Pete of the bartender.

“Rhiny don’t own the place now.  Sold out and gone.”

“Shucks!” said Pete.  “That’s too bad.  Where’d he go?”

“Don’t know.  You might ask the boss.”  He raised his voice:  “Hey, Dewing!  Gentleman here to speak to you.”

At the summons, Something Dewing appeared at the side door; he gave a little start when he saw Pete at the bar.

“Why, hello, Johnson!  Well met!  This is a surprise.”

“Same here,” said Pete.  “Didn’t know you were in town.”

“Yes; I bought Rhiny out.  Tired of Cobre.  Want to take a hand at poker, Pete?  Here’s two lumberjacks down from up-country, and honing to play.  Their money’s burning holes in their pockets.  I was just telling them that it’s too early to start a game yet.”

He indicated the other two men, who were indeed disguised as lumberjacks, even to their hands; but their faces were not the faces of workingmen.

“Cappers,” thought Pete.  Aloud he said:  “Not to-day, I guess.  Where’s Rhiny?  In town yet?”

“No; he left.  Don’t know where he went exactly—­somewhere up Flagstaff-way, I think.  But I can find out for you if you want to write to him.”

“Oh, no—­nothing particular.  Just wanted a chin with him.”

“Better try the cards a whirl, Pete,” urged the gambler.  “I don’t want to start up for a three-handed game.”

Pete considered.  It was not good taste to give a second invitation; evidently Dewing had strong reasons for desiring his company.