, drawing close to the wagon, ran an inquiring eye over my
merchandise.

"Been buying melons?" he asked, adding: "I didn't know that there was
anything of the kind for sale in the valley."

The observation did not seem to require an answer, and I was silent
while he reached into the box and selected one of the smaller melons
and held it up laughingly, as if defying me to retake it.

"Findings is keepings!" he said, gayly.

[Illustration: HE DREW UP BESIDE THE ROADWAY (Page 166)]

"Also, pilferings," I returned, triumphantly. After all, I should not
be compelled either to urge a sale or to offer a bribe.

"Call it pilfering if you have the face to, but in return for this bit
of refreshment I am going to give you some advice."

"Well?"

"The next time that you take your colored attache's place as teamster,
make sure that he has greased your wagon wheels. You may not have
observed it, but their protests against moving are simply diabolical."

"Oh, is that what causes that noise?" I asked, leaning down from the
seat the better to peer at the wheels in question.

"Certainly; Joe should not have allowed you to go out with them in
such shape."

The laughter had died out of my heart and my voice, but a stubborn,
foolish pride held my tongue. I could not tell the mining
superintendent, who would have been one of the best of customers,
that the melons were for sale, or that Joe had left us. "If I tell
him that Joe is gone," ran my foolish thought, "he will understand
that I am peddling melons." Gathering up the lines, I started the
horses quickly, lest he should ask where I got my load. Mr. Rutledge
drew his horse aside, waiting for me to pass.

"Be sure to tell Joe about the wheels, when you see him!" he called
after me, as the complaining shriek again rent the air.

"Yes," I returned, "I will;" and added to myself: "When I see him."

In my anxiety to escape questioning I had forgotten that a person who
is riding in a wagon whose wheels need oiling cannot shake off a
well-mounted horseman so easily. Underneath the weird outcry of the
wheels the steady pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat of the black horse's hoofs came
to my ears, and I glanced back to see Mr. Rutledge close to the hind
wheel. Unless he stopped entirely he must of necessity be close at
hand. The road that Mr. Rutledge must take in order to reach the
mining camp branched off from the one that we were following, at a
little distance, and I understood very well th