So great was his prestige that the engineer, in
fact, had been requested to report on his mine.

"A report?" shouted L. W., "what, a report on the Tecolotes? Well, I
can save you a long, dusty trip. In the first place Rimrock Jones is a
thorough-paced scoundrel, not only a liar but a crook; and in the
second place these claims are forty miles across the desert with just
two sunk wells on the road. I wouldn't own his mines if you would make
me a present of them and a million dollars to boot. I wouldn't take
them for a gift if that mountain was pure gold--how's he going to haul
the ore to the railroad? Now listen, my friend, I've known that boy
since he stood knee-high to a toad and of all the liars in Arizona he
stands out, preeminently, as the worst."

"You question his veracity, then?" enquired the engineer as he fumbled
for some papers in his coat.

"Question nothing!" raved L. W. "I'm making a statement! He's not
only a liar--he's a thief! He robbed me, the dastard; he got two
thousand dollars of my money without giving me the scratch of a pen.
Oh, I tell you----"

"Well, that's curious," broke in the engineer as he stared at a paper,
"he's got your name down here as a reference."

CHAPTER V

THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN

It is an engineer's duty, when he is sent out to examine a mine, to
make a report on the property, regardless. The fact that the owner is
a liar and a thief does not necessarily invalidate his claims; and an
all-wise Providence has, on several occasions, allowed such creatures
to discover bonanzas. So the engineer hired a team and disappeared on
the horizon and L. W. went off buying cattle.

A month passed by in which the derelictions of Rimrock were capped by
the machinations of a rival cattle buyer, who beat L. W. out of a buy
that would have netted him up into the thousands. Disgusted with
everything, L. W. boarded the west-bound at Bowie Junction and flung
himself into a seat in the half-empty smoker without looking to the
right or left. He was mad--mad clear through--and the last of his
cigars was mashed to a pulp in his vest. He had just made this
discovery when another cigar was thrust under his nose and a familiar
voice said:

"Try one of mine!"

L. W. looked at the cigar, which was undoubtedly expensive, and then
glanced hastily across the aisle. There, smiling sociably, was Rimrock
Jones.

L. W. squinted his eyes. Yes, Rimrock Jones, in a large, black hat; a
c