“Right you are, Judge,” replied Curly meekly.  “I’m going to try to get Mack to rebate two bits a day on your board, as a token of our appreciation.”

“Not when his biscuits have to be broken open with a stone,” objected Mack, as he sopped in his coffee one of the gray objects Enoch had served as rolls.

“They say when a woman that’s done her own cooking first gets a hired girl, she becomes right picky about her food,” rejoined Curly.

“I’d give notice if I had any place to go,” said Enoch.  “What was the luck to-day, boys?”

“Well, I’ve about come to the conclusion,” replied Mack, “that by working eight hours a day you can just about wash wages out of this sand, and that’s all.”

“You aren’t going to give it up now, are you, Mack?” asked Curly, in alarm.

“No, I’ll stay this week out, if you want to, and then move on up to Devil’s Canyon.”

They were silently smoking around the fire, a little later, when Curly said: 

“I have a hunch that you and I’re not going to get independent wealth out of this expedition, Mack.”

“What would you do with it, if you had it, Curly?” asked Enoch.

“A lot of things!” Curly ruminated darkly for a few moments, then he looked at Enoch long and keenly.  “Smith, you’re a lawyer, but I believe you’re straight.  There’s something about you a man can’t help trusting, and I think you’ve been successful.  You have that way with you.  Do you know what I’d do if I was taken suddenly rich?  Well, I’d hire you, at your own price, to give all your time to breaking two men, Fowler and Brown.”

“Easy now, Curly!” Mack spoke soothingly.  “Don’t get het up.  What’s the use?”

“I’m not het up.  I want to get the Judge’s opinion of the matter.”

“Go ahead.  I’m much interested,” said Enoch.

“By Brown, I mean the fellow that owns the newspapers.  When my brother and Fowler were in law together—­”

“You should make an explanation right there,” interrupted Mack.  “You said all lawyers was crooks.”

“My brother Harry was straight and I’ve just given my opinion of Smith here.  I never liked Fowler, but he had great personal charm and Harry never would take any of my warnings about him.  Brown was a short-legged Eastern college boy who worked on the local paper for his health.  How he and Fowler ever met up, I don’t know, but they did, and the law office was Brown’s chief hang-out.  Now all three of ’em were as poor as this desert.  Nobody was paying much for law in Arizona in those days.  Our guns was our lawyers.  But by some fluke, Harry was made trustee of a big estate—­a smelting plant that had been left to a kid.  After a few years, the courts called for an accounting, and it turned out that my brother was short about a hundred thousand dollars.  He seemed totally bewildered when this was discovered, swore he knew nothing about it and was terribly upset.