Winthrop smiled to himself. He liked the woman's voice.

He lighted a cigarette and gazed wistfully, even despairingly, at the "outfit" which surrounded him. He sighed. "Awful acc.u.mulation of plunder. Wonder what I'll do with it?"

As the train climbed the grade beyond San Bernardino, he grew restless.

Flinging down his cigarette, he began unwrapping his belongings. Out came blankets, extra clothing, a rifle, canteens of several patterns, two pack-saddles, a coil of rope, a pair of high lace boots,--hobnailed, heavy, and unserviceable,--a pocket compa.s.s, a hunting-knife, a patent filter, two halters, two galvanized pails, a small, compact, silk tent, an axe, a fishing-rod, a rubber cup, a box of cigars, a bottle of brandy, several neckerchiefs, a cartridge-belt, a Colts revolver of large and aggressive caliber, cartridges, a prospector's pick, a shovel, a medicine-case, a new safety razor, a looking-gla.s.s, a clinic thermometer, and a copy of "Robinson Crusoe."

He pondered over the agglomeration of articles pensively. "He was a good salesman," he said, smiling. "I'll be either a juggler or a strong man before I'm through with these things. I think I'll begin now and re-pack. I'll make one glorious bundle of it. That's the ticket!"

Winthrop went to work, whistling cheerfully. He spread the blanket and rearranged his possessions, finally rolling them up into an uncertain bundle which he roped with the weird skill of the amateur packer. He tried to lift the bundle to the opposite seat. He decided to leave it on the floor.

Over the grade and on the level of the desert the train gathered speed.

The shimmering s.p.a.ces revolved slowly, to meet the rushing track ahead.

Hour after hour sat Winthrop, reading and occasionally glancing out across the desert. His was the wildest of wild-goose chases. A stranger had told him of a mysterious ledge of gold somewhere out on the desert, and the stranger had named a desert town--the town toward which Winthrop was journeying. Would the eccentric Overland Red be there? Winthrop hoped so. He wanted to believe that this Ulysses of the outlands had spoken truth. He imagined vividly Overland Red's surprise when one William Stanley Winthrop, late of New York, should appear, equipped to the chin and eager to partic.i.p.ate in the hunt for the lost gold. Then again, the prospector might not care to be burdened with the companionship of a tenderfoot. Still, the uncertainty of his welcome lent zest to Winthrop's enterprise. He closed the door of his drawing-room and wound through a mahogany maze toward the dining-car.

Next morning, as the train slowed down for the desert town, Winthrop was in the vestibule, peering out anxiously. It did not occur to him that Overland Red knew nothing of his coming, or that the other would be waiting on the station platform if he did. The tramp had not the faintest desire to make himself conspicuous. Some of Winthrop's enthusiasm had evaporated during the hot night in the sleeper.

"Thank you very much," called the lady from Keokuk, Iowa.

"Don't mention it," said Winthrop, disembarking behind the porter with his "plunder." Then, as the Pullman slid away, Winthrop deliberately and gracefully threw a kiss to the dry-goods merchant's wife. "Nice little woman," he reflected. "Too nice to a.s.sociate with that grampus. Well, I hope they'll enjoy the rest of the trip in the drawing-room. I'm glad I was able to arrange it."

He watched the train crawl down the track. He wondered how long he would be able to distinguish the pattern of the bra.s.swork on the observation car-rail.

Out of the empty distance came the _click_, _clink_, _clank_ of hammers and shovels as the section-men, a mile down the track, stepped into work behind the train.

"Prospectin'?" queried a lank individual, slouching up to Winthrop.

"A little," said Winthrop. "It's pretty dry work."

"Uhuh. It's goin' to be hot about noon."

"I suppose so. Will you kindly give me a hand with this monstrosity,"

said Winthrop, indicating the pack. "The agent seems to be busy."

"Sure! She ain't roped very tight."

Which proved to be true. The bundle, with a kind of animate indifference, slowly sagged, opened, and things began to trickle from it in its journey across the platform. Among the things was the bottle of brandy. The lank individual picked this up tenderly and set it to one side. Winthrop noticed his solicitude, and smiled.

"We can rope 'em up again," said the lank one, suddenly becoming enthusiastic. "My name's Jim Hicks. I'm constable here."

"I see. Well, I'm William Winthrop, from Los Angeles. I'm a naturalist.

Will you accept a cigar?"

"Thanks. You want to pack this here bottle, too?"

"Not right away. Whew! It is getting hot."

"Goin' up to the hotel?" queried the constable.

Winthrop glanced along the street. The hotel did not look inviting. "I don't know. I'd like to get in the shade somewhere."

"There's old Fernando's 'dobe down the track under them pepper trees.

He's a friend of mine. He ain't to home to-day. Mebby you'd like to set down there and wait for your friend."

"My friend?"

"Why, ain't you waitin' for anybody? You ain't goin' to tackle that bug-huntin' trip alone, be you? It's dangerous out there for a tenderfoot. Now I have took folks out, and brought 'em back all right,--gone as far as them hills over there, and that's a good jag from here,--and I only charge four dollars a day and grub."

"I thought you said you were constable?"

"So I be. Takin' parties across the desert is on the side. How far you figurin' on goin'?"

"I haven't made up my mind yet. Say we go down as far as the adobe you spoke about, as a beginning. Perhaps we can arrange terms."

"I'm on, pard," said the constable.

Under the pepper trees shading Fernando's adobe sat Winthrop and the constable. The brandy-bottle was half empty and a box of cigars was open beside it on the bench. The afternoon shadows were lengthening. The constable had been discursive, voluminous, in his entertaining. Time was as nothing. He borrowed generously of to-morrow and even the next day.

He became suddenly quite fond of this quiet, gentlemanly chap opposite him, who said little, but seemed to be a prince of good fellows.

"'S this way," said the constable, leaning forward and waving his cigar.

"You're fren' of mine--sure thing. 'S af'ernoon now, but I was plumb fooled this mornin'. Y' know i's af'ernoon now. Thought you was the guy I'm lookin' for. H'overlan' Red--b.u.m--tram'. Wire from Loshangeles to upperan' him if he shows up here. See?"

"You're not quite clear to me," replied Winthrop. "But never mind about apprehending any one. Let's talk about this glorious prospect of sand, silence, and solitude. I feel like a fallen angel. Never mind about arresting anybody. Life is too short. Let's talk of roses."

"Roshes! Huh!" sn.i.g.g.e.red the constable. "You're kin' of sof, ain't you?

Roshes nothin'! I'm goin' talk 'bout business. It's business, my business to talk 'bout it, see? 'T ain't your business. You c'n lissen, an' when I get through, then you c'n talk roshes."

"But what is your business?" asked Winthrop, with an indifference that he did not feel.

"S-s-s-h-h! I'm cons'able. Tha's on the quiet. Thousand dollars rewar'

f'r th' appr'enshun of 'Verlan' Red. Thought you was him--hic--hee!

hee!"

"Please don't laugh like that. It hurts my feelings," said Winthrop. "It is bad enough to be taken for a--er--tramp."

"n.o.body's feelin's--pologishe. '_Course_ you ain' him! You're jus' a li'l' ole ten'erfoot--perfec'ly harmless li'l' ole ten'erfoot."

"Thanks. May I ask you to have another?"

"Nope. 'Nough's 'nough. 'S time f'r dinner."

"Nearly. Well, if you flatly refuse to drink my health, I'll have to drink it alone, and that's rather egotistical, isn't it?"

"Never. B' Gosh! You're sport. Funny li'l' ole ten'erfoot--perf'ly harmless. Sure, I'll drink all th' health you got, 'n then go home--dinner."

"One will be sufficient, I think," said Winthrop.