n reed it was, compared to his
gun and his good right hand. The return to Gunsight was a gloomy
affair, but nothing was said of the Old Juan. Abercrombie Jepson
guessed, and rightly, that his company was not desired; and they who
had set out with the joy of lovers rode back absent-minded and
distrait. But the question of the Old Juan was a vital problem,
involving other interests beside theirs, and in the morning there was a
telegram from Whitney H. Stoddard requesting that the matter be cleared
up. Rimrock read it in the office where Mary sat at work and threw it
carelessly down on her desk.

"Well, it's come to a showdown," he said as she glanced at it. "The
question is--who's running this mine?"

"And the answer?" she enquired in that impersonal way she had; and
Rimrock started as he sensed the subtle challenge.

"Why--we are!" he said bluffly. "You and me, of course. You wouldn't
quit me on a proposition like this?"

"Yes, I think I would," she answered unhesitatingly. "I think Mr.
Stoddard is right. That claim should be located in such a manner as to
guarantee that it won't be jumped."

"Uh! You think so, eh? Well, what do you know about it? Can't you
take my word for anything?"

"Why, yes, I can. In most matters at the mine I think you're entitled
to have your way. But if you elect me as a Director in this coming
stockholders' meeting and this question comes before the Board, unless
you can make me see it differently I'm likely to vote against you."

Rimrock shoved his big hat to the back of his head and stood gazing at
her fixedly.

"Well, if that's the case," he suggested at last, and then stopped as
she caught his meaning.

"Very well," she said, "it isn't too late. You can get you another
dummy."

"Will you vote for him?" demanded Rimrock, after an instant's thought,
and she nodded her head in assent.

"Well, dang my heart!" muttered Rimrock impatiently, pacing up and down
the room. "Here I frame it all up for us two to get together and run
the old Company right and the first thing comes up we split right there
and pull off a quarrel to boot. I don't like this, Mary; I want to
agree with you; I want to get where we can understand. Now let me
explain to you why it is I'm holding out; and then you can have you
say-so, too. When I was in jail I sent for Juan Soto and it's true--he
was born in Mexico. But his parents, so he says, were born south of
Tucson and that makes them Amer