" said Gustav.

"I _had_ to make it," replied Roger. "I have the conviction that if this
man, whoever he is, sees the plant working, the thing will be done, and
that if he doesn't find the wheels going round, I'm going to miss the
chance of my life."

"If the heat would just let up for a little while," sighed Ernest. "If
he's a northerner, it may put him out of business."

"Pshaw! they'll send an experienced man, never fear!" Roger poured
himself another cup of coffee. "Hello! Here's a caller!"

It was Qui-tha, riding a half-starved pony whose mangy sides were
working in the early morning sun like a pair of bellows.

He dismounted and grinned affably. "How! You give Qui-tha more strong
medicine, maybe!"

"Look here, Qui-tha, I'll give you all the strong medicine you want, if
you'll stay and help me for a week," cried Ernest.

Qui-tha shook his head. "No got time to work. Must go back to Injun camp
take care of sick Injun. Qui-tha heap big medicine man, now."

"All right!" Ernest shrugged his shoulders. "No work, no strong
medicine."

Qui-tha shrugged his shoulders and remounting, he started on up the
trail to the ranch house. Elsa reported later in the day that Dick,
having no peroxide, had promised to get some from Archer's Springs if
Qui-tha would do a day's work for him. Qui-tha, she said, was giving the
matter due consideration.

Late that evening, while Roger and Gustav were working at the little
forge, Ernest came out of the living tent where he had been writing
letters.

"Did you fellows hear a gun shot a little bit ago?" he asked. "You two
are making such an infernal racket, I can't tell what it was."

Roger and Gustav both stopped work and listened. The desert was
breathlessly silent.

"Are you sure?" asked Roger. "Did you think it might have been at the
ranch?"

"I couldn't tell. It may have been nothing at all but you folks here.
But if I hear it again, I'm going up there."

It was fifteen or twenty minutes later that Elsa's voice came from the
trail.

"Ernest! Roger! Gustav!"

The three men started on a run to meet her. A dark figure in the
starlight, she staggered exhausted toward them.

"The Indian--had whiskey--he and Dick both drunk. The Indian shot
Dick--in the leg and ran away."

"Did he hurt you girls?" cried Roger.

"Not a bit. But Dick's terrible. We've got him in his bedroom. But if
his leg didn't prevent him he'd climb out of the window."

As she spoke, she turned back