"That's what I want. I'm interested in this ethnology stuff, and I can do you sharks a whopping good turn. I want to get the credit, that's all. Folks call me a hard-fisted old mining crab, and I want to show 'em that I'm something more."

"A highly laudable ambition, sir. You understand, however, that what to a lay mind might appear to be a most interesting ethnological fact, to a scientist might prove well known or insufficiently supported--"

Mackintavers waved his square hand.

"This thing is all a.s.sayed and fire tested, professor, and I'm no fool.

May I give you an outline of it?"

"If you care to, by all means do so!"

"You know where the San Marcos pueblo is-away down south of Bonanza?"

Mackintavers struck into his subject without further parley. "It was abandoned about 1680 because of attacks from the Comanches, who destroyed several pueblos down in that country. There's a tradition that the Injuns migrated west of the Rio Grande and settled the Cochiti and Domingo pueblos. Has that tradition ever been proved up?"

The professor evinced an awakening interest.

"No, sir. We know that the survivors of the Pecos pueblo went to Jimez, but the older migrations are hidden in the mists of time, unfortunately.

Where the present Pueblos came from we do not know. The migrations--"

"They won't be hid very long," said Mackintavers, complacently.

"Aiblins, now, we'll clear 'em up a bit, eh?"

The only Scottish evidences which remained from Sandy's youth were an uncanny acquisitiveness and a habit of interjecting the word "aiblins"

into the conversation at random. When Sandy used that word, it betrayed mental effort.

"Some time ago," he resumed, "a man found seven stone idols in a bit of the adobe ruins at San Marcos. They had been walled up and buried alive, ye might say. The heavy rains last year, which took out some pieces of the adobe walls, washed 'em out. I've got 'em now, down to my ranch near Magdalena."

At this announcement the professor displayed mild disappointment. He had been more than interested in Sandy's preamble, but this supposed climax caused him to shake his gray head regretfully.

"My dear sir, these idols are of course very rare things, but not exceptionally so. I fail to see how they would give any proof of migration--"

"Hold on; I ain't done yet! A drunken Injun from Cochiti seen those idols and spilled a good deal of information, calling them by name and so on. That is not evidence which would stand on a scientific basis, I reckon. But if a Cochiti man could be made to talk, and if he was to recognize those idols first crack as his ancestral G.o.ds--"

"And not be drunk at the time," interjected the other, smiling.

"Sure. If he was to name 'em like old friends, and they corresponded with the same idols from Cochiti which are in various museums-then wouldn't all this go to show mighty plain that the migration theory was true?"

Mackintavers leaned back, breathless and triumphant. The scientist nodded quickly.

"Sir, this is an unusual and surprising proposal, but I cannot deny your premises. I do believe that such evidence would go a long way, could it be secured. That, of course, is the doubtful point, for these red men can very seldom be made to talk. However, you have an astounding perception of ethnologic values in merely conceiving the scheme!"

"Taken by and large, that's nothing but human nature. Well?"

"If this proof could really be adduced, it would be epochal! The possibilities, sir, would be tremendous in their application!"

"It ain't proved up yet," returned Sandy, drily, "but it will be. It may take a bit of time gettin' things in shape-a week or so, maybe. Ye know, professor, these Injuns are touchy about questions o' deity, and they have to be handled wi' gloves. But I'll do it! A bag of silver dollars will loom mighty big to them. If ye care to be on hand when the time comes, I'd be glad to have ye as a guest at my ranch--"

In many ways the professor had an extended knowledge of New Mexico. It is quite possible that he knew all about the playful habits of Sandy Mackintavers in regard to testimony along mining and mineral lines. So, while he did not restrain his enthusiasm over the ambition of his host, he made it plain that he certainly did wish to be on hand when the testimony in this case was obtained.

Mackintavers agreed readily, for in this instance he was more or less resolved to play fair; and the interview ended.

Scarcely had the scientist departed, than the door opened to admit an individual of striking appearance. This gentleman was the satellite, the adherent, and field marshal, the _ame d.a.m.nee_, of Mackintavers.

Mormon progenitors had given him a stocky, ma.s.sive front and splendid build, a steely eye and projecting lower jaw. A touch of Mexican blood had given him coa.r.s.e black hair, a swart complexion, and sinister mental attributes. He had much the appearance of a west-coast Irishman, with his black hair and gray eyes, but there the resemblance ended. Such was Abel Dorales, a man of reputation and education.

"Well?" greeted Mackintavers, abruptly. "What's up now?"

"Trouble," was the response. "Rodrigo Cota wants to see you. Also, I got a telegram from Ben Aimes, at Zacaton City, but haven't decoded it yet.

I think it's about the Crump woman."

"Then hurry it along," snapped Mackintavers. "Send Cota in here p.r.o.nto."

A moment later entered the room a nervous native, the same legislator who had briefly interviewed Coravel Tio regarding the moving of the capital. Mr. Cota stood mopping his brow and glancing around.

"Well, Cota?" exploded Sandy, transfixing him with frowning gaze.

"What's the matter now? Need more money to swing it?"

"Senor," blurted the legislator in desperation, "it cannot be swung!"

"Oh! And why not, Mr. Cota?"

"I do not know. Three weeks ago we had a clear majority. The measure was to be presented to-morrow-but our men have gone to pieces!"

"Do they want more money?" snapped Sandy, savagely.

The native shrugged. "I have done my best! It is a question of the people. In some way, I know not how, word has been spread abroad that the capital is to be changed. Our people are furious. Our natives, sir, have sentiment about this--"

"Sentiment, h.e.l.l!" snarled Mackintavers, as his fist crashed down. "I tell ye, it's goin' to be done! Ain't there plenty in it for all, ye fool? Ain't new state buildings got to be built at Albuquerque? Ain't--"

"Senor, it is no question of money; it cannot be done! I myself dare not propose this bill without voting for it; and I cannot vote for it."

"Why not?" The face of Mackintavers was purpled, seething with furious pa.s.sions. Livid, the native glared back at him.

"Because I am afraid for my life."

Mackintavers leaped to his feet in a whirlwind of rage at what he considered a palpable lie. The native shrank back, but doggedly, as though a greater fear were beside him than any fear of this political master of his.

At this instant the door opened and Abel Dorales appeared. He made a slight gesture, a gesture of command, of authority. The empurpled countenance of Mackintavers composed itself by a mighty effort.

"Very well, Mr. Cota," he said, thickly. "Let the bill pa.s.s over for this time, since I got more important business on hand than chasing down you native senators. But let me tell you this: When it comes up again, there'll be no more talk like you've just handed out-or I'll know the reason why. Get out!"

Cota took his hat and left, thankfully. Dorales closed the door, while a flood of oaths burst from the lips of Mackintavers. With extended hand, Dorales checked the flood.

"Never mind that, Sandy," he said, calmly. "We'll probably find later that the railroad is double-crossing us. There's no rush-we can get to the bottom of it in time. The more important affair is this of the Crump woman, so far as money goes. There's a bigger fortune in this mine than in any political game!"

Uncouth bear that he was, Mackintavers could be swayed by this more polished tongue; he knew this tongue was devoted absolutely to his own interests, and he forced himself to accept the dictum of Dorales at the moment.

"Well?" he growled. "Ye don't mean to say she's down at Zacaton?"

"The wire was from your store manager there, Aimes. He said merely that he had smashed the Crump outfit flat, and that I had better get there in a hurry to take charge of things."