out a woman.
I didn't see him for some years, when he showed up in Pueblo, where I
was workin' in a smelter. He was all for goin' South into the copper
country. He had some money--busted a faro bank he said, and talked big
about the fortune he was goin' to make. Ah, he could talk, when he had
something on his mind.... I had some money saved up too and so I quit my
job and went with him down to Bisbee, Arizona. I wish to God I never
had. I'd gotten pretty well straightened out up in Pueblo, sendin' money
East to the wife and all----. But I wanted to be rich. I was forty-five
and I had to hurry. But I could do it yet. Maybe this was my chance.
That's the way I thought. That's why I happened to listen to Hawk
Kennedy and his tales of the copper country.

"Well, we got an outfit in Bisbee and set out along the Mexican border.
We had a tip that let us out into the desert. It was just a tip, that's
all. But it was worth following up. It was about this man Ben Cameron.
He'd come into town all alone, get supplies and then go out again next
day. He let slip something over the drink one night. That was the tip we
were followin' up. We struck his trail all right--askin' questions of
greasers and Indians. We knew he'd found somethin' good or he wouldn't
have been so quiet about it.

"I swear to God, I had no idea of harmin' him. I wanted to find what Ben
Cameron had found, stake out near him and get what I could. Maybe Hawk
Kennedy had a different idea even then. I don't know. He never said what
he was thinkin' about.

"We found Ben Cameron. Perched up in a hill of rocks, he was, livin' in
the hole he'd dug where he'd staked his claim. But we knew he hadn't
taken out any papers. He never thought anybody'd find him out there in
that Hell-hole. It was Hell all right. Even now whenever I think of what
Hell must be I think of what that gulch looked like. Just rocks and
alkali dust and heat.

"It all comes back to me. Every little thing that was said and
done--every word. Ben Cameron saw us first--and when we came up, he was
sittin' on a rock, his rifle acrost his knees, a hairy man, thin,
burnt-out, black as a greaser. Hawk Kennedy passed the time of day, but
Ben Cameron only cursed at him and waved us off. 'Get the Hell out of
here,' he says--ugly. But we only laughed at him--for didn't we both see
the kind of an egg Ben Cameron was settin' on?

"'Don't be pokin' jokes at the Gila Desert, my little man,' say Hawk,
polite as you