n a jeweled city of dreams.

The prospector's words flowed on. Crystal dawns might come and go,
succeeding mist scarfs of rose and lilac, but a great poet has said
that speech is silver.

"No, sir. When a man has got the drop on me I don't aim to argue with
him. Not none. Tim Harrigan had notions. Different here. I've done some
rough-housin'. When a guy puts up his dukes I'm there. Onct down in
Sonora I slammed a fellow so hard he woke up among strangers. Fact. I
don't make claims, but up at Carbondale they say I'm some rip-snorter
when I get goin' good. I'm quiet. I don't go around with a chip on my
shoulder. It's the quiet boys you want to look out for. Am I right?"

Crawford gave a little snort of laughter and covered it hastily with a
cough.

"You know it," went on the quiet man who was a rip-snorter when he got
going. "In regards to that, I'll say my observation is that when you meet
a small man with a steady gray eye it don't do a bit of harm to spend
a lot of time leavin' him alone. He may be good-natured, but he won't
stand no devilin', take it from me."

The small man with the gray eye eased himself in the saddle and moistened
his tongue for a fresh start. "But I'm not one o' these foolhardy idiots
who have to have wooden suits made for 'em because they don't know when
to stay mum. You cattlemen have lived a quiet life in the hills, but I've
been right where the tough ones crowd for years. I'll tell you there's a
time to talk and a time to keep still, as the old sayin' is."

"Yes," agreed Crawford.

"Another thing. I got an instinct that tells me when folks are interested
in what I say. I've seen talkers that went right on borin' people and
never caught on. They'd talk yore arm off without gettin' wise to it that
you'd had a-plenty. That kind of talker ain't fit for nothin' but to
wrangle Mary's little lamb 'way off from every human bein'."

In front of the riders a group of cottonwoods lifted their branches at
a sharp bend in the road. Just before they reached this turn a bridge
crossed a dry irrigating lateral.

"After Harrigan had been shot I came to the ditch for some water, but she
was dry as a whistle. Ever notice how things are that way? A fellow wants
water; none there. It's rainin' rivers; the ditch is runnin' strong.
There's a sermon for a preacher," said the prospector.

The cattleman nodded to Dave. "I noticed she was dry when I crossed
higher up on my way out. But she was full up with wa