ee how readily the simple-minded
mountaineer became his dupe and tool, and watched, with a covert sneer,
as Pete joyously contrived his own downfall and undoing.

"I have many questions to ask about your mine--I believe I had almost
said our mine." The lawyer smiled cordially. "To begin with, how about
water and fuel?"

"Lots of it. A cedar brake, checker-boarded all along the mountain.
There's where it gets the name, Ajedrez Mountain--Chess Mountain;
kind of laid out in squares that way. Good enough for mine timbers, too.
Big spring--big enough so you might almost call it a creek--right close
by. It's almost too good to be true--couldn't be handier if I'd dreamed
it! But," he added with regretful conscientiousness, "the water's pretty
hard, I'm sorry to say. Most generally is, around copper that way. And
it'll have to be pumped uphill to the mine. Too bad the spring couldn't
have been above the mine, so it could have been piped down."

Prompted by more questions he plunged into a glowing description of
Ajedrez Mountain; the marvelous scope of country to be seen from the
summit; the beauty of its steep and precipitous canons; the Indian
pottery; the mysterious deposit of oyster shells, high on the
mountain-side, proving conclusively that Ajedrez Mountain had risen
from the depths of some prehistoric sea; ending with a vivid description
of the obstacles to be surmounted by each of the alternate projects for
the wagon road up to the mine, with estimates of comparative cost.

At length it drew on to the hour for Mitchell's dinner and Pete's supper,
and they parted with many expressions of elation and good-will.

From his window in the Algonquin, Pete Johnson watched Mitchell picking
his way across to the Iroquois House, and smiled grimly.

"There," he confided to his pipe--"there goes a man hotfoot to dig his
own grave with his own tongue! The Selden kid has done told Uncle
McClintock about Stan being in jail. She told him Stan hadn't written to
Cousin Oscar about no jail, and that I wasn't to tell him either. Now
goes Cousin Oscar on a beeline to tell Uncle how dreadful Stanley has
went and disgraced the family; and Uncle will want to know how he heard
of it. 'Why,' says Oscar, 'an old ignoramus from Arizona, named
Johnson--friend of Stanley's--he told me about it. He came up here to
get me to help Stanley out; wanted me to go out and be his lawyer!'

"And, right there, down goes Cousin Oscar's meat-house! He'll nev