‘Next to Lee,’ said Howard, ’Devine knows the mining game from hackamore to hoof.  And he’s a treacherous hound and a Jim Courtot man.’

‘You said it, boy,’ grunted Pony Lee.  ’He’s all of that.  And he’s no nickel shooter, either.  If the game ain’t big, he won’t chip in.’

‘But,’ continued Howard, ’I guess you’ve doped it up wrong, Pony.  Chances are they’ve got something else up their sleeves.  They couldn’t possibly have dropped on to Longstreet’s find.’

For a full minute Lee’s eyes bored into Longstreet’s.  Then he spoke dryly: 

’As long’s the desert wind blows, word of a strike will go with it.  Maybe I have got the wrong end of it.’  He shrugged loosely.  ’I’ve done that sort of thing now and then.  But I got one more thing to spill.  Sanchia Murray’s in town.  Or she was a little while ago.’

Again he fixed his shrewd eyes upon Longstreet’s tell-tale face, which slowly reddened.  Pony Lee grunted and at last lighted his cigar.  Howard, with a look of sheer amazement, stared at Helen’s father.

‘You didn’t tell Sanchia?’ he gasped.

They got their answer in a perfect silence.  Lee laughed somewhere deep down in his throat.  Howard simply sat and stared.  Then suddenly he sprang to his feet and grasped Longstreet by both shoulders, jerking him up out of his chair.

‘Tell me about it,’ he commanded sternly.  ‘What did you tell her?’

‘Everything,’ returned the bewildered college man.  ’Why shouldn’t I?  She promised not to say anything.’

Howard groaned.

‘Oh, hell!’ he muttered and turned away.  But he came back and explained quietly.  ’She’s as crooked as a dog’s hind leg; she’s running neck and neck, fifty-fifty, with Jim Courtot and Monte Devine on all kinds of deals—­Come on.  We’ve got to burn the earth getting back to Big Run.  We’ll beat ’em to it yet.’

‘Wait a minute, Al,’ called Lee softly.  ’Let’s get all the dope first.  You say, Mr. Longstreet, that you filed on your claim all right?’

Longstreet began to flounder and half-way through his recital bogged down helplessly.  He had met Sanchia Murray, had gone with her to the Montezuma House, had seen Mr. Bates there——­

‘What sort of a looking gent is this Mr. Bates?’ quizzed Pony Lee sharply.

‘A short man, dark, black moustaches——­’

Again Howard groaned.  Lee merely smiled.

’Recognize the picture, Al?  She steered him right into Monte to fix his papers!  Well, by God!’

His expression was one of pure admiration.  In his mind Sanchia Murray had risen to undreamed of heights—­heights of impudence, but none the less daring.  He could see the coup in all of its brilliance.  But not so Howard.

‘We saw her leave a letter at the hotel in Big Run!’ he cried out.  He was half-way to the door.  ’She had the hunch then.  By now Courtot and Devine and the rest are in the saddles, if they are not, some of them, already squatting on the job at Last Ridge!  I’m on my way.  Pony, come alive.  Chase over to the court-house; take Longstreet with you and file on the claim if it isn’t too late.’