ant you to keep this stock.'"

"Well?" inquired Wiley, as Charley paused to take a drink, "and what did
Virginia say, then?"

"Oh, I couldn't repeat it," answered Death Valley virtuously. "She don't
seem to like you now. She says you stole her mine."

"Huh!" grunted Wiley, and looked about the cabin which was littered with
bottles and flasks. "Well, where've _you_ been?" he went on at
last, the better to change the subject, and Charley leered at him
shrewdly.

"Over across Death Valley," he chanted drunkenly, "--on the east side,
in the Funeral Range. But they put me to work on the graveyard shift so
I quit and come back to town."

"Ye-es," jeered Wiley, "you've been on a big drunk. What are you doing
with this demijohn of whiskey?"

"Why, I got it for the Colonel," replied Charley, laughing childishly,
"and I started to take it over to him, but my burros got away at
Daylight Springs, so I made camp and drunk it all up."

"But it's full!" objected Wiley.

"Yes, I refilled it," answered Charley and helped himself to another
nip. "Thas second time now I took that whiskey to the Colonel and both
times I drunk it up. Thas bad--the Colonel will kill me."

"Yes, and do a danged good job," grumbled Wiley morosely. "You sure got
me in Dutch with Virginia."

"She says you stole her mine," defended Charley stoutly. "And don't you
say nothing against Virginia. She's noblest girl the sun ever shined.
I'll _kill_ any man that says different!"

"Oh yes, sure," agreed Wiley, "I'd do that myself. But Charley, I didn't
steal her mine. I got it from Blount, and if she wants it back--say,
Charley, you tell her I want to see her!"

He leaned over eagerly and laid his hand on Charley's shoulder, but
Death Valley shook him off.

"No!" he declaimed. "The Huffs are poor but proud--they don't take
charity from no one!"

"Aw, but, Charley," he argued, "this isn't charity. We'll get it away
from Blount!"

"You're drunk!" declared Charley and turned sternly to the demijohn
which was rapidly going down.

"Well, maybe I am," admitted Wiley craftily, "but that's all right,
isn't it, between friends?"

"Sure thing--have another!" responded Charley cordially, and Wiley
poured out a generous portion.

"Here's to you," he said, "Old Chuckawalla Charley--the man that put the
Death in Death Valley. You're some desert rat, now ain't you, Charley?
You helped pack the mud to build the butte and stoped out the guest
chamber down in hel