significant wave of the hand, and
replied to it in words:

"Thanks, old man, but some other time. At present I'm keener on the
scent for my captain than for even your good coffee. If she comes,
report, will you?"

The other did not notice what he heard, but himself proceeded to the
cabin and safely deposited his handiwork within it. Then he came out
again, whistled for his dog, Keno, whose head he stroked for some
time, and into whose attentive ear he seemed to be whispering some
instruction.

A shade of amusement, merging into wonder, crossed the herder's
countenance, and he communed with himself thus:

"Blow my stripes, if Old Century isn't going to take the trail
himself! He's telling that canine what to do while he's gone, and,
ahoy, there! If the knowin' creatur' doesn't understand him! All
right, grand sir! Yet, not all so right, either. It takes a deal of
business to move Pedro off his mesa, and if he's riled enough to leave
it now, it's because he sees more danger to Lady Jess than even I do.
Hello! what's he waiting for?"

Evidently for Samson to depart, which that gentleman presently did,
grimly considering:

"Old chap thinks the whole mesa belongs to him, and 'pears to suspect
I might rob him if he left me behind. Well, friend, I've no call to
tarry. Since my lady isn't here, I must seek her elsewhere," and down
the canyon Samson dashed, his sure-footed beast passing safely where a
more careful animal would have stumbled.

All this had happened soon after the dispersing of the ranchmen to
search for Jessica, and Samson had now taken that turn of the trail
which led to the miner's cabin.

"'Tisn't likely she's there, though. She'd never travel afoot that
long distance, and Buster's in the stable."

The Winklers received him with gloom. The hilarious gayety that had
once distinguished their small household had vanished with the loss of
Elsa's money. Their son, and idol, had been defrauded of a rich future
for which they had toiled, and life now seemed to them but an irksome
round of humdrum duties, to be gotten through with as easily as
possible. Over the cabin hung an air of neglect which even Samson was
swift to note, and most significant of all, Elsa's knitting had fallen
to the floor and become the plaything of a kitten, which evoked no
reprimand, tangle the yarn as she would.

"Hello, neighbors! Ain't lookin' over and above cheerful, are you?
What's wrong?"

"Good-day, herder. How's all?"