“Find it?  Yes; we might find it in a million years, maybe, or we might find it in a day.  Pima County alone is one fourth the size of the State of New York.  And the claim may be in Yuma County, Maricopa, or Pinal—­or even in Old Mexico, for all we know.  We feel like it was somewhere south of here; but that’s only a hunch.  It might as well be north or west.  And you don’t know this desert country.  It’s simply hell!  To go out there hunting for anything you happen to find—­that’s plenty bad enough.  But to go out at random, hunting for one particular ledge of rock, when you don’t know where it is or what it looks like—­that is not to be thought of.  Too much like dipping up the Atlantic Ocean with a fountain pen to suit me!”

“Then, by your own showing,” rejoined Mitchell triumphantly, “I am not only entitled to a share of the mine, but I am fairly deserving of the biggest share.  I met this ignorant mountaineer, of whom you stand in such awe, took his measure, and won his confidence.  What you failed to do by risk, with numbers on your side, what you shrink from attempting by labor and patience, I have accomplished by an hour’s diplomacy.  Johnson has given me full directions for finding the mine—­and a map.”

“What?  Johnson would never do that in a thousand years!”

“It is as I say.  See for yourself.”  Mitchell displayed the document proudly.

Zurich took one look at that amazing map; then his feelings overcame him; he laid his head on the table and wept.

Painful explanation ensued; comparison with an authentic map carried conviction to Mitchell’s whirling mind.

“And you thought you could take Johnson’s measure?” said Zurich in conclusion.  “Man, he played with you.  It is by no means certain that Johnson will like it in jail.  If he comes back here, and finds that you have not been near your cousin, he may grow suspicious.  And if he ever gets after you, the Lord have mercy on your soul!  Well, there comes the stage.  I must go and distribute the mail.  Give me this map of yours; I must have it framed.  I wouldn’t take a fortune for it.  Tinhorn Mountain!  Dear, oh, dear!”

He came back a little later in a less mirthful mood.  Had not the crestfallen Mitchell been thoroughly engrossed with his own hurts, he might have perceived that Zurich himself was considerably subdued.

“It is about time for you to take steps again,” said Zurich.  “Glance over this letter.  It came on the stage just now.  Dated at Tucson last night.”

Mitchell read this: 

DEAR MISTER:  Johnson is back and no pitch hot.  Look out for yourself.  He over-reached me; he knows who got Bat Wiley’s money, and he can prove it.