The morning found Wunpost at Salt Creek Crossing, where the bones of a hundred emigrants lie buried in the sand without even a cross to mark their resting place. It was a place well calculated to bring up thoughts of death, but Wunpost faced the coming day calmly. At the first flush of dawn the sand was still hot from the sun of the evening before; the low air seemed to suffocate him with its below-sea-level pressure, and the salt marshes to give off stinking gases; it was a hell-hole, even then, and the day was yet to come, when the Valley would make life a torment.

The white borax-flats would reflect a blinding light, the briny marshes would seethe in the sun; and every rock, every sand-dune, would radiate more heat to add to the flame in the sky. Wunpost knew it well, the long-enduring agony which would be his lot that day; but he moved about briskly, bailing the slime from the well and sinking it deeper into the sand. He doused his body into the water and let his pores drink, and threw buckets of it on his beseeching mules; but only after the well-hole had been scraped and bailed twice would he permit them 145to drink the brackish water. Then he tied them in the shade of the wilting mesquite trees and strode to the top of the hill.

A man, perforce, takes on the color of his surroundings, and Wunpost was coated white from the crystallized salt and baked black underneath by the glare; but the look in his eyes was as savage and implacable as that of a devil from hell. He sat down on the point and focussed his glasses on Poison Spring, and then on the trail beyond; and at last, out on the marshes, he saw an object that moved–it was Pisen-face Lynch and his horse. The horse was in the lead, picking his way along a trail which led across the Sink towards the Ranch; and Lynch was behind, following feebly and sinking down, then springing up again and struggling on. His way led over hummocks of solid salt, across mud-holes and borax-encrusted flats; and far to the south another form moved towards him–it was the Indian, riding out to bring him in.

The sun swung up high, striking through Wunpost’s thin shirt like the blast from a furnace door; sweat rolled down his face, to be sopped up by the bath-towel which he wore draped about his neck; but he sat on his hilltop, grim as a gargoyle on Notre Dame, gloating down on the suffering man. This was Pisen-face Lynch, the bad man from Bodie, who was going to trail him to his mine; this was Eells’ hired man-killer and professional claim-jumper who had robbed him of the Wunpost and Willie Meena–and now he was a derelict, lost on the desert he 146claimed to know, following along behind his half-dead horse; and but for the Indian who was coming out to meet him he would go to his just reward. Wunpost put up his glasses and turned back with a grin–it was hell, but he was getting his revenge.

Wunpost spent the heat of the day in the bottom of the well, floating about like a frog in the brine, but as evening came on he crawled out dripping and saddled up and packed in haste. Every cinch-ring was searing hot, even the wood and leather burned him, and as he threw on the packs he lifted one foot after the other in a devil’s dance over the hot sands. It was hot even for Death Valley, the hottest place in North America, but there was no use in waiting for it to cool. Wunpost soused himself and mounted, and the next morning at dawn he looked down from the rim of the Panamints.

The great sink-hole was beginning to seethe, to give off its poisonous vapors and fill up like a bowl with its own heat; but he had escaped it and fled to the heights while Pisen-face Lynch stayed below. He was still at the ranch, gasping for breath before the water-fan which served to keep the men there alive; and as he breathed that bone-dry air and felt the day’s heat coming on, he was cursing the name of Calhoun. Yes, cursing long and loud, or deep and low, and vowing to wreak his revenge; for before he had worked for hire, but now he had a grievance of his own. He would take up Wunpost’s trail like an Indian on the warpath, like a warrior who had been robbed of his medicine-bag; he would 147come on the run and with blood in his eye–that is, if the heat had not killed him. For his pride was involved, and his name as a trailer and an all-around desert-man; he had been led into a trap by a boy in his twenties, and it was up to him to demonstrate or quit.

Wunpost went his way tranquilly, for there was no one to pursue him; and ten days later he rode down Jail Canyon with his pack-mule loaded with ore. It had been his boast that he would return in two weeks with a mule-load of Sockdolager gold; but Billy, as usual, had taken his boast lightly and came running with news of her own.

“Hello!” she called. “Say, you can’t guess what I’ve done–I’ve taught Red and Good Luck to be friends. They eat their supper together!”

“Good!” observed Wunpost, “and not to change the subject, what’s the chances for a white man to eat? I’ve been living on jerky for three days.”

“Why, they’re good,” returned Billy, suddenly quieted by his manner. “What’s the matter–have you had any trouble?”

“Oh, no!” blustered Wunpost, “nah, nothing like that–the other fellow had all the trouble. Did Pisen-face Lynch and that Injun come back? Well, I’ll bet they were dragging their tracks out!”

“They didn’t come through here, but I saw them on the trail–it must have been a week ago. But what’s all that that you’ve got in your pack-sacks–have you been out and got some more ore?”

“Why, sure,” answered Wunpost, deftly easing 148off his kyacks and lowering the load to the ground. “Didn’t I tell you I was going to get some?”

“Yes, but-”

“But what?” he demanded, looking down on her arrogantly, and Wilhelmina became interested in the dog.

“You have such a funny way of talking,” she said at last, “and besides–would you mind letting me look at it?”

“I sure would!” replied Wunpost; “you leave them sacks alone. And any time my word ain’t as good as gold-”

“Oh, of course it’s good!” she protested, and he took her at her word.

“All right, then–I’ve got the gold.”

“Oh, have you really?” she cried, and as he rolled his eyes accusingly she laughed and bit her lip. “That’s just my way of talking,” she explained, rather lamely. “I mean I’m glad–and surprised.”

“Well, you’ll be more surprised,” he said, nodding grimly, “when I show you a piece of the ore. I sold that last lot to a jeweler in Los Angeles for twenty-four dollars an ounce, quartz and all–and pure gold is worth a little over twenty. Talk about your jewelry ore! Wait till I show this in Blackwater and watch them saloon-bums come through here. Too lazy to go out and find anything for themselves–all they know is to follow some poor guy like me and rob him of what he finds. What’s the news from down below?”

“Oh, nothing,” answered Billy, and stood watching 149him doubtfully as he unsaddled and turned out his gaunted mules. His new black hat was sweated through already and his clothes were salt-stained and worn, but it was the look in his eye even more than his clothes which convinced her he had had a hard trip. He was close-mouthed and grim and the old rollicking smile seemed to have been lost beneath a two weeks’ growth of beard. Perhaps she had done wrong to speak of the dog first, but she knew there was something behind.

“Did you have a fight with Mr. Lynch?” she asked at last, and he darted a quick glance and said nothing. “Because when he went through here,” she went on finally, “he seemed to be awful quarrelsome.”

“Yes, he’s quarrelsome,” admitted Wunpost, “but so am I. You wait till I tangle with him, sometime.”

“You’re hungry!” she declared, still gazing at him fixedly, and he gave way to a twisted grin.

“How’d you guess it?” he inquired; but she did not tell him, for of course they were supposed to be friends. Yes, good friends, and more–she had let him kiss her once, but now he seemed to have forgotten it. He ate supper greedily and went back to the corral to sleep, and in the morning he was gone.

The early-risers at Blackwater, out to look for their burros or to get a little eye-opener at the saloon, were astonished to see his mules in the adobe corral and Wunpost himself on the street. He was reputed to be in hiding from Pisen-face Lynch, who 150had been inquiring for him for over a week; and the news was soon passed to Lynch himself, for Blackwater had a grudge against Wunpost. He had made the town, yes, in a manner of speaking–for of course he had discovered the Willie Meena Mine and brought in Eells and the boomers–but never to their knowledge had he spoken a good word of them, or of anything else in town. He came swaggering down their streets as if he owned the place, or had enough money to buy it–and besides, he had led them on two disastrous stampedes in which no one had even located a claim. And the Stinging Lizard Mine was salted! Hence their haste to tell Lynch and the malevolent zeal with which they maneuvered to bring them together.

Wunpost was standing before the Express office, waiting for the agent to open up and receive his ore-sacks for shipment, when he espied his enemy advancing, closely followed by an expectant crowd. Lynch was still haggard and emaciated from his hard trip through Death Valley, and his face had the pallor of indoors; but his small, hateful eyes seemed to burn in their sockets and he walked with venomous quickness. But Wunpost stood waiting, his head thrust out and his gun pulled well to the front, and Lynch came to a sudden halt.

“So there you are!” he burst out accusingly, “you low-down, poisoning whelp! You poisoned that water, you know you did, and I’ve a danged good mind to kill ye!”

“Hop to it!” invited Wunpost, “just git them 151rubbernecks away. I ain’t scared of you or nobody!”

He paused, and the rubbernecks betook themselves away, but Pisen-face Lynch did not shoot. He stood in the street, shifting his feet uneasily, and Wunpost opened the vials of scorn.

“You’re bad, ain’t you?” he taunted. “You’re so bad your face hurts you, but you can’t run no blazer on me. And just because you chased me clean down into Death Valley you don’t need to think I’m afraid. I was just showing you up as a desert-man, et cetery, but if any man had told me you’d drink that poisoned water I’d’ve said he was crazy with the heat. You’re a lovely looking specimen of humanity! What’s the matter–didn’t you like them Epsom salts?”

“There was arsenic in that water!” charged Pisen-face fiercely. “I had it analyzed–you were trying to kill me!”

“Why, sure there was arsenic,” returned Wunpost mockingly, “don’t you know that rank, fishy smell? But don’t blame me–it was God Almighty that threw the mixture together. And didn’t I leave you a drink in that empty can? Well, where is your proper gratitude?”

He ogled him sarcastically and Lynch took a step forward, only to halt as Wunpost stepped to meet him.

“That’s all right!” threatened Lynch, his voice tremulous with rage and weakness. “You wait till I git back my strength. I’ll fix you for this, you 152dirty, poisoning coward–you led me to that spring on purpose!”

“Yes, and you followed, you sucker!” returned Wunpost insultingly; “even your Injun had better sense than that. What did you expect me to do–leave you a canteen of good water so you could trail me up and pot me? No, you can consider yourself lucky I didn’t shoot you like a dog for following me off the trail. I gave you the road–what did you want to follow me for? By grab, it looked danged bad!”

“I’ll go where I please!” declared Lynch defiantly. “You’re hiding a mine that belongs to Mr. Eells and my instructions were to follow you and find it.”

“Well, if you’d followed your instructions,” returned Wunpost easily, “you sure would have found a mine. Do you see these two bags? Plum full of ore that I dug since I gave you the shake. Go back and report that to your boss.”

“You’re a liar!” snarled Lynch, but his eyes were on the ore-sacks and now they were gleaming with envy. And other eyes also were suddenly focussed on the gold, at which Wunpost surveyed the crowd intolerantly.

“You’re a prize bunch of prospectors,” he announced as from the housetops. “Why don’t you get out in the hills and rustle? That’s the way I got my start. But you Blackwater stiffs want to hang around town and let somebody else do the work. All you want is a chance to stake an extension on some 153big strike, so you can sell it to some promoter from Los!”

He grunted contemptuously and picked up the two big sacks while the citizens of Blackwater sneered back at him.

“Aw, bull!” scoffed one, “you ain’t got no gold! And if you have, by grab, you stole it. What about the Stinging Lizard?”

“Well, what about it?” retorted Wunpost, giving his bags to the Express agent, “-put down the value on that at seven thousand dollars.” This last was aside to the inquiring Express agent, but the crowd heard it and burst out hooting.

“Seven thousands cents!” yelled a voice; “you never saw seven thousand dollars! You’re a bull-shover and your mine was salted!”

“Sure it was salted!” agreed Wunpost, laughing exultantly, “but you Blackwater stiffs will bite at anything. Did I ever claim it was a mine? I’m a bull-shover, am I? Well, when did I ever come here and try to sell somebody a mine? No; I came into town with some Sockdolager ore, and you dastards all tried to get me drunk; and I finally made a deal with the barkeep at The Mint to show him the place for a thousand dollar bill. Well, didn’t I show him the place–and didn’t he come back more than satisfied with his pockets bursting out with the gold? He never had no kick–I met him in Los Angeles and he told me he had sold the rock for thirteen hundred dollars to a jeweler. But say, my friends, don’t you 154 think I knew where he would go to get that thousand dollar bill? Do you think I was so drunk I expected a barkeeper to have thousand dollar bills in his pocket? No; I knowed who he would go to, and Eells gave him the bill and a pocket full of Boston beans; but he lost them on the road, so I brought him down Jail Canyon and old-scout Lynch here, he followed my tracks!

“Wasn’t that wonderful, now? He followed our tracks back and he found the Stinging Lizard Mine–and then, of course, he jumped it! That’s his job, when he ain’t licking old Judson Eells’ boots or framing up some crooked deal with Flappum; and then he went back and told Eells. And then Eells–you know him–being as he’d stole the mine from me, like all crooks he thought it was valuable. Was it up to me then to go to Mr. Eells and tell him that the mine was salted? Would you have done it–would anybody? Well, he thought he had me cinched, and I sold out for twenty thousand dollars. And now, my friend, you said a moment ago that I’d never seen seven thousand dollars. All right, I say you never did! But just, by grab, to show you who’s four-flushing I’ll put you out of your misery–I’ll show you seven thousand, savvy?”

He stuck out his head and gazed insolently into the man’s face and then drew out his wad of bills. They were badly sweated, but the numbers were there–he peeled off seven bills and waved them airily, then laughed and shoved them into his overalls.

155“Tuh hell with you!” he burst out defiantly, consigning all Blackwater to perdition with one grand, oratorical flourish. “You think you’re so smart,” he went on tauntingly, “now come and trail me to my mine. If you find it you can have it–it ain’t even staked–but they ain’t one of you dares to follow me. I ain’t afraid of Eells and his hired yaller dog, and I ain’t afraid of you! I’ll take you all on–old Eells and all the rest of you–and I ain’t afraid to show you the ore!”

He strode into the Express office and grabbed up a sack, which he cut open with a slash of his knife; and then he reached in and took out a great chunk that bulged and gleamed with gold.

“Am I four-flushing?” he inquired, and when no one answered he grunted and tied up the hole. There was a silence, and the crowd began to filter away–all but Lynch, who stood staring like an Indian. Then he too turned away, his haggard eyes blinking fast, like a woman on the verge of bitter tears.