think he said. Yes,
sir--that's it. Dip'theria and appendiseetus."

"Ridiculous!" scoffed Lucy. "Did they operate?"

"Operate! I should say they did! They whittled that woman down to
such a frazzle and when the doc goes to see her in the mornin' he has
to shake the sheets to find her!"

"Heine, I believe you're a humorist," Lucy said doubtfully.

Heine grinned. "She's gettin' better now, though; and the doc says
next trip she'll probably be over. Then she c'n 'tend to her business
with you herself. I wish she would. I get things all mixed up."

Drummond and Lucy stared at each other when the skinner had left.

"Gypped!" exclaimed Drummond. "There's something phony about this! By
George, I'm--I'm scared there's something wrong! Heine's been lying
like a sailor. I believe I'll drive over to Julia tomorrow and see
what I can find out."

"Sit down, Heine," invited Twitter-or-Tweet Orr Tweet, rising and
lowering the window shade in his little pine office as the jerkline
skinner entered.

Heine accepted.

"Well?" queried Tweet, with a look of worriment in his face.

"Ain't heard a word from 'em, Playmate, since they come in and filed,
and went back with a minin' engineer," said Heine. "I'm gettin'
worried myself. You see, that's a bad country up in there where
they've gone. Many a man's gone in there and left his bones for the
buzzards to pick."

"But weren't they fixed for an ordeal, Heine?"

"No one ever hit Death Valley better fixed," was the reply. "Jo, she
hires two big trucks and takes horses and pack burros and feed and grub
and water till you couldn't rest. They aimed to go as far as they
could with the trucks, and then make a headquarters there, leave the
drivers to look out for the camp, and her and Wild Cat was gonta make
it on in with the horses and the canaries. They had a scout that knows
that country from the southern end o' the Panamints to Lost Valley.
Oh, they went heeled; but it's a big job and takes time. Still, they
oughta be showin' up by now."

Orr Tweet heaved a great sigh. "Jo's simply forgotten all about me,"
he said mournfully. "Heine, I don't mind tellin' you--but if somethin'
don't happen pretty soon one Tweet goes up Salt Creek. Here it's only
ten days till I gotta plunk down six thousan' iron men, plus a raft o'
interest money. And the mortgages o' this blame rancho are watchin' me
like buzzards, ready to swoop down the minute I begin to gasp. They
go