Haywire Smithers had at one time maintained a livery, which was now defunct. However, he disinterred an ancient surrey, hitched up one of Piute's horses, oiled his springs, and set forth with Murray to fetch in Tom Lee and Claire.  
Before leaving town, however, Murray was interviewed by Sandy Mackintavers, who laid bare the little deal in real estate. Murray listened without comment, his keen eyes searching the heavy features of Mackintavers.
 
"I thought," he said quietly, "that you had decided to throw overboard all the shady tricks of yesterday, Sandy?"
 
Mackintavers flushed. "Shady? And what's shady about this, will ye tell me?"
 
"Giving a note that you don't expect to pay, for one thing."
 
"Wasn't the paper worthless that I gave it for?"
 
"No matter; it was unnecessary. That note will be met and paid, Sandy."
 
"Man, ye don't understand this game!" said Sandy with earnest conviction. "There was nothin' wrong about it; one man get ahead of the other, that's all! Aiblins, now——"
 
"Aiblins, now," and Murray smiled quickly, "we're partners, so say no more about it. Only, after this, let me in on these little deals, Mac; if I'd been here last night, you'd not have given that note. After this, we'll pull together—and go slow. I'll wager that when Hobbs gets back, you'll find that you've been neatly stung."
 
"How?"
 
"Lord, man, I don't know! I was merely expressing an opinion. We'll put the deal over, however, and if Willyum holds to his notion of being a printer, we'll give him a helping hand."
 
"Right."
 
So Murray went forth into the desert, and it was nearly noon when he returned. The surrey discharged its passengers at the hotel, and Tom Lee was carried to his room. He had a slight touch of fever and Murray assumed prompt charge of him, installing Claire as nurse and ordering that the injured man be kept alone and unexcited.
 
Luncheon over, and his patient reported asleep, Murray discussed immediate plans with Sandy. To go out to Morongo Valley and investigate their purchase, was naturally the first impulse of both men; but they had to await the return of Bill Hobbs, in order to make sure of their position. That Hobbs himself would accompany them to Morongo Valley, was unlikely.
 
"We may get off in the morning," said Sandy. "He'll not like it there, Doc. He's taken a notion to the printin' business, and his heart will be back here."
 
"Let him stay here, then," assented Murray, "and go in for his chosen profession! At least, for the present. He'll get tired of playing by himself, I imagine. Suppose we go over and get the shop cleaned up a bit for him?"
 
Sandy agreed. On the hotel porch they encountered Piute Tomkins, who was busily engaged in hounding unfortunate lizards to a miserable fate. Murray paused and addressed him.
 
"As the mayor of this municipality and deputy sheriff, Mr. Tomkins, we call upon your aid! Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party. Arise and shine! If you want a print-shop opened here, let's go and open it. Our estimable partner Bill Hobbs will be back anon, and upon his return he'll find the place cleaned up. It will encourage him."
 
"Where's he gone?" queried Piute, untangling his legs from his chair and rising.
 
"Joy-riding. Careening blithely forth upon the desert winds, his soul unblemished by care and his tires filled with ethereal zephyrs. Comest thou?"
 
Piute looked a trifle blank, and followed.
 
The shop was just as the defunct owner had left it—or rather, as Willyum had left it the night previous. The neglect and dirt of a twelvemonth faced them, and they attacked it valiantly. After half an hour, however, they gave it up as a hopeless job.
 
"I never seen a clean printer yet," observed Piute thoughtfully, "and there ain't no use tryin' to improve on the Lord's handiwork, I reckon. I'm goin' to rest a spell."
 
He departed. Murray looked at Sandy, and grinned.
 
"Well, the floor looks cleaner, at least! Let's take an inventory!"
 
Sandy dismally shook his head and drifted away in the tracks of Piute. But Murray, who was operating with the interests and future of Bill Hobbs in view, continued his labors. He was enjoying himself, sating his arch?ological cravings, as it were. Having rescued Bill Hobbs from an aimless existence of more or less criminality, he felt that if Hobbs now had leanings toward settled life in this spot, he should be aided and encouraged thereto. Murray was not oblivious of a sense of responsibility; besides, he had a real affection for the earnest Willyum.
 
He explored the place thoroughly. Coming in from the outside world, in touch as he had been with the prices of things, he was astonished to find that the shop must have been well stocked up shortly before the demise of the late proprietor. The ink-rack was filled with tubes and tins; a gasolene drum reposed in the corner; news print paper was stacked high in a closet, ready cut, and there were two untouched rolls; bond and job paper of all kinds was in abundance.
 
The large foot-power job press seemed new and good, while the cutter and other varied machines were in fair condition, type racks, furniture, stones—all the paraphernalia of a printing establishment were here. Murray was not so sure about the press, and with reason. This was an ancient and much mended relic, a flat-bed hand-power creation such as made Ben Franklin famous; an instrument such as is keenly sought after by dilettanti print-artists who love good work, and shunned by those who seek commercial results.
 
"Looks to me as though Willyum can step right in and take hold," thought Murray. "He can learn to set type easily enough—he'll have to! There's a place to sleep in back, and he can rustle his own meals. I guess Bill can manage."
 
Returning to the hotel, he took a chair beside Piute and Sandy, and was talking idly when Claire Lee appeared in the doorway.
 
"Mr. Tomkins!" she exclaimed. "How can I get off some letters and telegrams?"
 
"Give 'em to me," said Piute. "Stage comes in next week."
 
"Next week!" Dismay filled the girl's face. "But—but these are important! They must go off at once!"
 
Piute pulled at his mustache and frowned.
 
"Sho!" he exclaimed. "If I'd knowed that this mornin', you could ha' sent 'em by Deadoak. He took my hoss an' rode over to Meteorite."
 
Mackintavers gave Murray a significant glance, followed by a wink.
 
"But surely," persisted the girl, "there must be some way——"
 
"There is," said Piute encouragingly. "If ye don't want to take 'em yourself in that car, why, I reckon Shovelface Ryan would saddle up and ride over for five dollars. He's the helper up to the blacksmith shop. Shovelface done set off a blast too soon one time and it plumb disorganized his talkin' and hearin' apparaytus, but if Stiff Enger is around he can interpret for ye."
 
The girl hesitated an instant, then came out into the sunlight and walked up the street.
 
"It's right queer, now——" and Piute favored his auditors with an exposition of his own views, the views of Deadoak, the views of Haywire, and in fact the views of Two Palms in particular and in general, upon the subject of Tom Lee and Claire.
 
Before Piute had exhausted the subject, Claire came into sight again, returning. At the steps she thanked Piute for his suggestion.
 
"Mr. Ryan is going," she said, then paused. "Father is still asleep, Doctor Murray. Do you think he's all right?"
 
"Absolutely, Miss Lee," answered Murray. "He must be kept quiet for a few days, that's all. I'll look in on him tonight."
 
She nodded and was gone.
 
Conferring with Sandy, Murray decided to get one of the flivvers in shape for the trip to Morongo Valley, and ascertained the road carefully from Piute. That gentleman was openly curious as to the whereabouts of Bill Hobbs, but gained no satisfaction; and presently took his departure in somewhat of a huff.
 
"Aiblins, now," said Mackintavers, "we may take for granted that Hobbs will be back sometime tonight, so that we can start in the morning, if his report's good. Suit ye?"
 
Murray nodded. They took the car over to the hardware emporium of Haywire Smithers, and filled her with gasolene and oil; their spare cans were still untouched.
 
Claire joined them at the supper table with word that her father had awakened, and when his meal was finished, Murray went to visit his patient. He found Tom Lee taciturn, the fever departed, and mentioned that he would be gone for a few days.
 
"We've invested in a mine," he explained, smilingly, "and we're anxious to look the ground over. You'll need no attention, Mr. Lee, if you keep quiet. Three days in bed, and you'll be able to step around with a cane. I'll see you when I return."
 
"Very well," said Tom Lee without comment.
 
Murray went downstairs to find Bill Hobbs at the table, devouring everything in sight. Piute was hanging around, so the cautious Willyum made no reference to his trip, beyond stating the unavoidable fact that he had been to Meteorite. And at this, Piute Tomkins could not repress his uneasiness.
 
"Gee, that road was suttinly fierce!" remarked Willyum between bites. "I left there about noon, and had two punctures comin' over the rocks. Say, I met a guy on horseback, too! That guy Deadwood——"
 
"Deadoak!" said Piute explosively.
 
"Yep, Deadoak. He give me a hand blowin' up a tire."
 
Piute was looking very melancholy when the three partners left the dining room and adjourned to their own room.
 
Once in private, Bill Hobbs unbosomed himself of sundry papers. He had carried out his business, and he merely turned over his papers to Mackintavers with a grin. Sandy examined the documents, and nodded grimly.
 
"Good! D'ye mind, Murray, what our host said about Deadoak? Ye met him, Hobbs. He was on his way to Meteorite, to get the mining lease!"
 
"Oh!" said Bill. "Come to think of it, he did look kinda funny!"
 
Murray chuckled. "Then, Sandy we own everything in sight?"
 
"Everything," assented Mackintavers vigorously. "And a good job it is!"
 
"All right. You look dead for sleep, Willyum, so turn in. We're off in the morning to inspect the property. Want to go along?"
 
Hobbs hesitated.
 
"Well, I want to bad enough, only for that there joint across the street——"
 
"All right." Murray chuckled again. "We've cleaned up a bit for you, so fall to work! In two or three days we'll be back, and have an arrangement in regard to the future. If you're seriously set on opening up a print-shop, we'll agree——"
 
"As partners?" queried Willyum anxiously.
 
"Sure," asserted Sandy, with one of his rare smiles. "We go three-square in everything! Mine and homestead and newspaper—we'll be running the country next!"
 
"'Where every prospect pleases and only man is vile,'" quoth Murray, and grinned. His grin was worthy the name, and was most reprehensible in a man of his years and experiences.
 
"You take the papers," said Mackintavers, extending them. "Don't leave 'em with Bill. 'Twouldn't be safe. A mere ex-burglar would be an infant in arms with these natives to plunder him!"
 
"I s'pose so," agreed Bill Hobbs mournfully, and bade his partners farewell.
 
At six in the morning, Murray and Sandy Mackintavers drove out along the north road toward Morongo Valley, and vanished for a space from human ken. At a later hour, Bill Hobbs went forth to his "joint," and was too much absorbed to show up again at the hotel until supper.
 
And, in the meantime——!
 
Toward noon, Claire summoned Piute Tomkins to her father's room, with word that Tom Lee wished to speak with him. Piute obeyed the summons. When he entered, Tom Lee gazed at him steadily for a moment.
 
"I wish to know, Mr. Tomkins," he said slowly, "who owns the valley at which we looked the other day—Morongo Valley, I think the name is."
 
"Who—who owns it?" stammered Piute. He was of a sudden acutely mindful of a sub rosa transaction by which Deadoak had transferred that property to him, and he to Mackintavers. "Why—d'ye mean the homestead or the mine, now?"
 
"Both," snapped Tom Lee impatiently. "All of it—all of the little valley!"
 
Piute was positively staggered. He had no certain clue from this whether Tom Lee wanted the mine or not; chances were, he did. Murray and Mackintavers were gone—and Bill Hobbs, he guessed shrewdly, knew little of the matter, or at least could sign away nothing.
 
"Well, I'll tell ye," said Piute, desperate. "Right queer about that there place, it is! Ye see, the feller that homesteaded it an' worked the mine, he got stove in under his own shaft. My father-in-law, he was, and a right mean ol' scoundrel to boot. Well, Deadoak Stevens, he wanted the prop'ty, on account o' Hassayamp havin' a bag o' dust on him and meanin' to dig up the remains——"
 
"Who owns the property?" cut in Tom Lee impatiently.
 
"Why, Deadoak!" rejoined Piute. "At least, he done so a couple of days ago, and I reckon still does."
 
"Where is he?"
 
"I dunno. Went off to Meteorite yes'day. He'll be back soon enough."
 
"If you'll send him to me, Mr. Tomkins, I'll appreciate it greatly."
 
"Certain, certain," and Piute backed out, pausing in the corridor to mop his beaded brow. Tom Lee had been to Morongo Valley and had found something. Mackintavers had been deluded into buying the property."
 
"Plague take it!" said Piute. "If Deadoak was here now!"
 
Late that night, Deadoak staggered into the hotel and fell upon the neck of Piute Tomkins with tears,—metaphorically speaking. Curses were nearer the truth.
 
"He done beat us to it!" sorrowed Deadoak, rolling a cigarette while Piute rustled him a cup of coffee in the kitchen. "He done grabbed the minin' rights, Piute——"
 
"Let it go!" exclaimed Piute energetically. "Listen here, now——" He expounded the interview with Tom Lee.
 
"That there chink has found somethin'!" he declared with vigor. "You chase up to his room an' see if he wants to buy the place."
 
"Ding my dogs, Piute! I can't sell that there place no more—she don't belong to me!"
 
"If he wants it, get an offer. If it's enough, buy it back from Mackintavers!"
 
Deadoak protested. He was saddle-galled and weary, disconsolate and disgusted, and he had no heart for intrigue. Piute Tomkins goaded him to it, however, and sent him despite protests to the room of Tom Lee.
 
Fifteen minutes later, Deadoak stumbled downstairs to the office where Piute awaited him. He dropped limply into a chair.
 
"Well?" snapped Piute.
 
"Ain't no well—nothin' but a dry hole," mourned Deadoak. "That there chink offered—or rather, I brung him up to offer—five thousand cash for the place. Ding my dogs! If only we hadn't acted so preceptous with that there pilgrim! I ain't never knowed what real remorse was until right now——"
 
"Well, saddle up an' beat it to Morongo Valley pronto," exclaimed Piute. "Buy back——"
 
"Not me! I done had enough ridin' to last my mortal lifetime——"
 
"You're goin', and you're goin' in the morning!" asserted Piute emphatically. "Savvy? See what that there chink found—trail him down! I got no use for yeller men cheatin' honest citizens out o' their rights. You're goin', understand?"
 
Deadoak assented weakly that he understood. Presently, however, he rallied again.
 
"Now, Piute, show some sense!" he pleaded. "Ain't you jest said that the chink and this Doc Murray were out together? Well, they framed up the deal on us, that's all; the doc got the chink to——"
 
"You're a plumb fool, Deadoak," exclaimed Piute scornfully. "Why, the deal hadn't been put through when Murray went out to 'tend to the chink! 'Course, it might ha' been framed up since; all these here pilgrims seem a durn sight smarter'n you'd think for. I tell ye what——"
 
"Say!" broke in Deadoak with sudden remembrance. "I met Shovelface Ryan on his way to Meteorite—the chink girl had give him ten dollars to take some letters over there pronto. Tellygrams too. Well, Shovelface give me a squint at 'em, but he wouldn't let me open 'em a-tall; he's a queer cuss, Shovelface is, in some ways! Them letters was addressed to chinks in San Francisco, and they had photygrafts inside—they'd been put in damp and had curled up; I could feel 'em——"
 
"That proves it!" cried Piute in triumph. "That proves it, Deadoak! This here chink done located somethin' out to that place. And by whiz, he photygrafted it! Then he writ back to all his chink friends to let 'em in on the good thing."
 
"But all this," said Deadoak thoughtfully, "ain't nothin' to me no more. I don't own no mine in Morongo Valley! I don't own nothin' except a note for five hundred——"
 
"Well, I got some money to work with," broke in Piute. "You vamose out to that there mine and look her over! The chink an' the girl brung back some pictures and some of 'em was broke, but I guess a few was saved; the girl developed 'em in that closet the chink hired for a dark room. Most likely she left 'em there. I'll have a look in there early in the mornin', and mebbe we can get a clue.
 
"Then, you chase out to the valley an' keep your eye on things. Take some grub and a pair o' blankets, and watch what them pilgrims does, savvy? Take them glasses o' mine, and you can lay up top o' the hill all snug."
 
"The sun lays up there, too," said Deadoak, plaintively. "It lays up snug, and it's hotter'n hell, and brings out the rattlers an'——"
 
"You never mind," cut in Piute. "You're a-goin', that's all!"
 
Deadoak bowed his head in bitter assent.
 
"My, but you're plumb sot in your ways, Piute!" he returned feebly. "I'll go."