The Desert Trail. Coolidge Dane

looked for in the West, and as Bud led the way across the echoing lobby to a pair of stuffed chairs he had a vague feeling of being in church. Stained-glass windows above the winding stairways let in a soft light, and on the towering pillars of marble were emblazoned prickly-pears as an emblem of the West. From the darkened balconies above half-seen women looked down curiously as they entered, and in the broad lobby below were gathered the prosperous citizens of the land.

      There were cattlemen, still wearing their boots and overalls, the better to attend to their shipping; mining men, just as they had come from the hills; and others more elegantly dressed – but they all had a nod for Henry Kruger. He was a man of mark, as Bud could see in a minute; but if he had other business with those who hailed him he let it pass and took out a rank brier pipe, which he puffed while Bud smoked a cigarette.

      They were sitting together in a friendly silence when Phil came out of the dining-room, but as he drew near the old man nodded to Bud and went over to speak to the clerk.

      "Who was that oldtimer you were talking to?" inquired Phil, as he sank down in the vacant chair. "Looks like the-morning-after with him, don't it?"

      "Um," grunted Bud; "reckon it is. Name's Kruger."

      "What – the mining man?"

      "That's right."

      "Well," exclaimed Phil, "what in the world was he talking to you about?"

      "Oh, some kind of a mining deal," grumbled Bud. "Wanted me to go down into Mexico!"

      "What'd you tell him?" challenged the little man, sitting up suddenly in his chair. "Say, that old boy's got rocks!"

      "He can keep 'em for all of me," observed Bud comfortably. "You know what I think about Mexico."

      "Sure; but what was his proposition? What did he want you to do?"

      "Search me! He was mighty mysterious about it. Said he wanted a man he could trust."

      "Well, holy Moses, Bud!" cried Phil, "wake up! Didn't you get his proposition?"

      "No, he wasn't talking about it. Said it was a good thing and he'd pay me well, or let me in on the deal; but when he hollered Mexico I quit. I've got a plenty."

      "Yes, but – " the little man choked and could say no more. "Well, you're one jim dandy business man, Bud Hooker!" he burst out at last. "You'd let – "

      "Well, what's the matter?" demanded Hooker defiantly. "Do you want to go back into Mexico? Nor me, neither! What you kicking about?"

      "You might have led him on and got the scheme, anyway. Maybe there's a million in it. Come on, let's go over and talk to him. I'd take a chance, if it was good enough."

      "Aw, don't be a fool, Phil," urged the cowboy plaintively. "We've got no call to hear his scheme unless we want to go in on it. Leave him alone and he'll do something for us on this side. Oh, cripes! what's the matter with you?"

      He heaved himself reluctantly up out of his chair and moved over to where Kruger was sitting.

      "Mr. Kruger," he said, as the old man turned to meet him, "I'll make you acquainted with Mr. De Lancey, my pardner. My name's Hooker."

      "Glad to know you, Hooker," responded Kruger, shaking him by the hand. "How'do, Mr. De Lancey."

      He gave Phil a rather crusty nod as he spoke, but De Lancey was dragging up another chair and failed to notice.

      "Mr. Hooker was telling me about some proposition you had, to go down into Mexico," he began, drawing up closer while the old man watched him from under his eyebrows. "That's one tough country to do business in right now, but at the same time – "

      "The country's perfectly quiet," put in Kruger – "perfectly quiet."

      "Well, maybe so," qualified De Lancey; "but when it comes to getting in supplies – "

      "Not a bit of trouble in the world," said the old man crabbedly. "Not a bit."

      "Well," came back De Lancey, "what's the matter, then? What is the proposition, anyway?"

      Henry Kruger blinked and eyed him intently.

      "I've stated the proposition to Hooker," he said, "and he refused it. That's enough, ain't it?"

      De Lancey laughed and turned away.

      "Well, yes, I guess it is." Then, in passing, he said to Bud: "Go ahead and talk to him."

      He walked away, lighting a cigarette and smiling good-naturedly, and the oldtimer turned to Bud.

      "That's a smart man you've got for a pardner," he remarked. "A smart man. You want to look out," he added, "or he'll get away with you."

      "Nope," said Bud. "You don't know him like I do. He's straight as a die."

      "A man can be straight and still get away with you," observed the veteran shrewdly. "Yes, indeed." He paused to let this bit of wisdom sink in, and then he spoke again.

      "You better quit – while you're lucky," he suggested. "You quit and come with me," he urged, "and if we strike it, I'll make you a rich man. I don't need your pardner on this deal. I need just one man that can keep his head shut. Listen now; I'll tell you what it is.

      "I know where there's a lost mine down in Mexico. If I'd tell you the name you'd know it in a minute, and it's free gold, too. Now there's a fellow that had that land located for ten years, but he couldn't find the lead. D'ye see? And when this second revolution came on he let it go – he neglected to pay his mining taxes and let it go back to the government. And now all I want is a quiet man to slip in and denounce that land and open up the lead. Here, look at this!"

      He went down into his pocket and brought out a buckskin sack, from which he handed over a piece of well-worn quartz.

      "That's the rock," he said. "She runs four hundred dollars to the ton, and the ledge is eight inches wide between the walls. Nice ore, eh? And she lays between shale and porphyry."

      His eyes sparkled as he carefully replaced the specimen, and then he looked up at Bud.

      "I'll let you in on that," he said, "half and half – or I'll pay two hundred dollars a month and a bonus. You alone. Now how about it?"

      For a moment Hooker looked at him as if to read his thoughts, then he shook his head and exhaled his smoke regretfully.

      "Nope," he said. "Me and Phil are pardners. We work together."

      "I'll give you three hundred!" cried Kruger, half rising in his chair.

      "Nope," grunted Bud, "we're pardners."

      "Huh!" snorted the mining man, and flung away in disgust. But as he neared the door a new thought struck him and he came as quickly back.

      "You can do what you please about your pardner," he said. "I'm talking to you. Now – will you think about it?"

      "Sure!" returned Hooker.

      "Well, then," snapped Kruger, "meet me at the Waldorf in an hour!"

      III

      On the untrammeled frontier, where most men are willing to pass for what they are without keeping up any "front," much of the private business, as well as the general devilment, is transacted in the back rooms of saloons. The Waldorf was nicely furnished in this regard.

      After a drink at the bar, in which De Lancey and Hooker joined, Henry Kruger led the way casually to the rear, and in a few moments they were safely closeted.

      "Now," began Kruger, as he took a seat by the table and faced them with snapping eyes, "the first thing I want to make plain to you gentlemen is, if I make any deal to-day it's to be with Mr. Hooker. If you boys are pardners you can talk it over together, but I deal with one man, and that's Hooker.

      "All right?" he inquired, glancing at De Lancey, and that young man nodded indulgently.

      "Very well, then," resumed Kruger, "now to get down to business. This mine that I'm talking about is located down here in Sonora within three hours' ride of a big American camp. It isn't any old Spanish mine, or lost padre layout; it's a well-defined ledge running three or four hundred dollars to the ton – and I