eadquarters. It isn't far, and we can have breakfast at my
camp."

Casey swallowed his astonishment, and for once in his life he did as he
was told without argument.

Mack Nolan's camp was fairly accessible by roundabout trail with a few
tire tracks to point the way for Casey. Straight across the ridges, it
would not have been more than two miles to Juniper Wells. Nevertheless
not one man in a year would be tempted to come this way, unless it were
definitely known that some one lived here.

As the camp of a man who was prospecting for pastime rather than for a
grubstake, the place was perfect. Mack Nolan had taken possession of a
cabin dug into the hill at the head of a long draw. A brush-covered
shed of makeshift construction sheltered a car of the ubiquitous Ford
make. Fifty yards away and in full sight of the cabin, the mouth of a
tunnel yawned blackly under a rhyolite ledge.

Casey swept the camp with an observant glance and nodded approval as
and stopped before the cabin.

"As a prospector, Mr. Nolan, I'll say 'tis a fine layout you got here.
An' tain't the first time an honest-lookin' mine has been made to cover
things far off from minin'. Like the Black Butte bunch, f'r instance.
But if any one was to ride up on yuh unexpected here, I'll say yuh
could meet 'em with a grin an' feel easy about your secrets."

"That's praise indeed, coming from an old hand like you," Nolan
declared. "Now I'll tell you something else. With Casey Ryan in the
camp the whole thing's twice as convincing. Come in. I want to show
you what I call an artistic interior."

Grinning, Casey followed him inside and exclaimed profanely in
admiration of Mack Nolan's genius. The cabin showed every mark of the
owner's interest in the geologic formation of that immediate district.

On the floor along the wall lay specimens of mineralized rock, a couple
of prospector's picks, a single-jack and a set of drills; a sample
sack, grimed and with a hole in the corner mended by the simple process
of gathering the cloth together around it and tying it tightly with a
string, hung from a nail above the tools. On the window sill were
specimens of ore; two or three of the pieces showed a richness that
lighted Casey's eyes with the enthusiasm of an old prospector. Mining
journals and a prospector's manual lay upon a box table at the foot of
the bunk. For the rest, the cabin looked exactly what it was--the
orderly home of a man quite accustomed t