It was truly a sight to take any man’s breath away; but even such a view could only arrest Hanson’s interest temporarily.  He was hungry, and the station agent, a weedy youth, was making a noisy closing up.  Intentionally noisy, for when one is the agent of a small desert station, the occasional visitor is apt to whet one’s curiosity to razor edge.

Roused by these sounds, and by his growing hunger, which the cool purity of the air only augmented, Hanson turned to the boy.

“Where’s a place to stay?” he asked.

“There ain’t but one,” replied the youth; “the San Gorgonio hotel.  You walk right up this street until you come to it, on the left side.  It’s got a sign out, electric,” he added with some pride.  He looked curiously at Hanson, standing tall and straight with his ruddy, good-looking face, keen, quick, gray eyes and curling light hair.  “Going to be here long?” he asked tentatively.

“I don’t know,” returned Hanson idly.  “Guess not.  No string on me, though, even if I’d choose to put in a month or so here.  This way, you say?” He lifted his suit case and began to walk in the direction the station agent had indicated.

“Say,” the latter called after him, “you don’t want to miss the show to-night.”

“What show?” Hanson turned, interest amounting almost to eagerness in his tone.

“Benefit.”  The boy rolled the word unctuously under his tongue.  “I guess maybe you saw why in the papers.  The river got on a tear and cut into a nice little town here on the desert, drowned some of the folks and did a lot of damage generally, so we’re raising some money to send to ’em.”

The stranger’s interest had increased perceptibly.  “Sounds good to me,” he said heartily.  “What’s your features?”

“Just one,” the other answered impressively.  “We don’t need no more in this part of the world, if we got her.”

“Her!” cried Hanson, and now his cold eyes were alight.  “Who the hell is her?”

“Why, the Black Pearl!” as if surprised that anyone should be unaware of the fact. “’Course we got a few thousand square miles of desert waiting to be reclaimed, and any amount of mountains full of ore, but to us they’s small potatoes and few in a hill beside the Black Pearl.”

Hanson swore softly and ecstatically.  “If that ain’t that good old blind luck of mine hitting me again after all these years,” he muttered.  “Say, son, I’m making no secret of my business.  Don’t have to.  I am a theatrical manager—­vaudeville.  Got great backing this year and am out for new features.  Set my heart on the Black Pearl and got to figuring on her.  Sweeney had her on his circuit last winter.  Well, Sweeney, let me tell you, is pretty shrewd.  He knows a good thing when he’s got it, so I thought there was no show for me.  Presently, I hear that she’s scrapped with Sweeney and is off to the desert like a flash.  So she’s really here?”

“Sure,” said the boy.