ch the better for us, for he is free to manage this business."

The doctor's speech made an impression. But these Californians had not
yet learned the value of honor. They seemed to think that they could
catch the murderers if they put up enough money. They themselves were
too busy making money to hunt down the outlaws; but they assumed that
money would do it; and they were willing to put up thousands of dollars.
But numerous rewards for the apprehension of desperadoes were
outstanding at that very hour; and the desperadoes were still at large.
As a money-making proposition, mining with all its uncertainties was
more attractive than professional detective work. Then again, these
Californians could not trust a man actuated by motives higher than their
own. Indeed, their chairman, Henry Francis himself, for some subtle
reason which it would have been well for him to analyze, was opposed to
employing honest John Keeler. It would have been well for Francis,
before it was too late, to realize to what an extent money standards
were replacing honor in his own life. It takes determination, loyalty,
devotion, to accomplish a difficult task; and such qualities cannot be
bought.

When Captain Jack and his Modocks held a council of war in their lava
beds, they accomplished things which it was beyond the power of these
fortune-hunters to accomplish. Captain Jack had no gold, but the skill,
loyalty, and devotion of every Indian of his band were at his command.
And yet Francis would have imagined himself the superior of Captain
Jack.

As time was passing, with little accomplished, Francis suggested that
they might first decide upon the amount to be offered as a reward for
the apprehension of the murderers. It was voted to offer a reward of
$10,000, or $5,000 for either of the two men.

"Now, gentlemen," said Francis, "I shall have to go over to Fillmore
Hill to-morrow to see Mr. Palmer, who holds a note against Will Cummins.
You know I am settling the estate. Keeler will be over there, they say,
and I will talk with him. But on the way over, I shall look up a man
worth two of John Keeler in a business like this."

"Who is that?" asked the doctor.

"Mr. William Brown."

No one seemed to know William Brown.

"He lives a mile up the canon," continued Francis.

"Oh, you mean Bed-bug Brown," said Mat Bailey.

"Yes," replied Francis, "that's the name he commonly goes by."

"I know the man," said the doctor. "Says he came here i