isk. If the bacon spoiled he
would not agree to pay us a cent. With the taste of that famous ham in
our mouths, this contingency seemed sufficiently remote; and we said
as much.

"Well, I could rob ye right and left. Ye've got to trust me, and
there's a saying: 'To trust is to bust.'"

He was so candid in explaining the many ways by which an unscrupulous
man might take advantage of two ignorant Britons, that Ajax, not
relishing the personal flavour of the talk, rose and strolled across
to the branding-corral. When he returned he was unusually silent, and,
riding home, he said thoughtfully: "I saw Laban's brand this
afternoon. It is 81, and the 8 is the same size as our S. His ear-mark
is a crop, which obliterates our swallow-fork. Queer--eh?"

"Not at all," I replied indignantly. "It's a social crime to eat, as
you did to-day, three large helpings of turkey, and then----"

"Bosh!" he interrupted. "If Laban is an honest man, no harm has been
done. If he stole our steers--and, mind you, I don't say he did--three
slices off the breast of a turkey will hardly offset my interest in
five tons of beef. As for this packing scheme, it sounds promising;
but we lack figures. To-morrow we will drive into San Lorenzo, and
talk to the Children of Israel. If Ikey Rosenbaum says that bacon is
likely to rise or stay where it is, we will accept Laban's
proposition."

The following morning we started early. The short cut to San Lorenzo
lay through the Swiggart claim, and the road passed within a few yards
of the house. We saw Mrs. Swiggart on the verandah, and offered to
execute any commissions that she cared to entrust to two bachelors. In
reply she said that she hated to ask favours, but--if we were going to
town in a two-seater, would we be so very kind as to bring back her
mother, Mrs. Skenk, who was ailing, and in need of a change.
"Gran'ma's hard on the springs," observed Euphemia, Mrs. Swiggart's
youngest girl, "but she'll tell you more stories than you can shake a
stick at; not 'bout fairies, Mr. Ajax, but reel folks." We assured
Mrs. Swiggart that we should esteem it a pleasure to give her mother a
lift. Ajax had met the old lady at a church social some six months
before, and, finding her a bonanza of gossip, had extracted some rich
and curious ore.

In San Lorenzo we duly found Isaac Rosenbaum, who proved an optimist
on the subject of bacon. Indeed, he chattered so glibly of rising
prices and better times that the packin