re sunup; they found brown Awguan, dejected and
sweat-streaked, standing in hip-shot weariness on the hill near his
corral. In the corral Stanley's saddle lay in the sand, the blankets
sweat-soaked.

Unwillingly enough, Holland woke Stan from a smiling sleep to arrest him.
They searched the little room, finding the mate to the spur found on the
trail, but nothing else to their purpose. But at last, bringing Stan's
saddle in before locking the house, Bull Pepper noticed a bumpy
appearance in the sheepskin lining, and found, between saddle skirt and
saddle tree, the stolen money in full, and even the checks that Zurich
had sent.

They haled Stan before the justice, who was also proprietor of the
Mountain House. Waiving examination, Stanley Mitchell was held to
meet the action of the Grand Jury; and in default of bond--his guilt
being assured and manifest--he was committed to Tucson Jail.

The morning stage, something delayed on his account, bore him away under
guard, _en route_, most clearly, for the penitentiary.

CHAPTER VII

Mr. Peter Johnson's arrival in Morning Gate Pass was coincident with
that of a very bright and businesslike sun. Mr. Johnson had made a night
ride from the Gavilan country, where he had spent the better part of a
pleasant week, during which he had contrived to commingle a minimum of
labor with a joyous maximum of innocent amusement. The essence of these
diversions consisted of attempts--purposely clumsy--to elude the
vigilance of such conspirator prospectors as yet remained to neighbor
him; sudden furtive sallies and excursions, beginning at all unreasonable
and unexpected hours, ending always in the nothing they set out for,
followed always by the frantic espionage of his mystified and bedeviled
guardians--on whom the need fell that some of them must always watch
while their charge reposed from his labors.

Tiring at last of this pastime, observing also that his playfellows grew
irritable and desperate, Mr. Johnson had sagely concluded that his
entertainment palled. Caching most of his plunder and making a light pack
of the remainder, he departed, yawning, taking trail for Cobre in the
late afternoon of the day preceding his advent in Morning Gate.

He perched on the saddle, with a leg curled round the horn; he whistled
the vivacious air of Tule, Tule Pan, a gay fanfaronade of roistering
notes, the Mexican words for which are, for considerations of high
morality, best unsung.

Th