ill. He had a capital
smile, and Mills was captivated into smiling in sympathy.

"Who may you be?" he asked agreeably; "didn't expect to meet no white
men about here. Where's your boys?"

The tall man waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the coast, as
though to imply that he had carriers somewhere in that part of the
world.

"Yais," he said pleasantly. "An' you are Jone Mills, eh?"

"That's me," said Mills promptly, lowering the butt of his gun to the
ground and resting both hands on the muzzle. The stranger started
slightly, but did not cease to smile.

"I don't seem to know you," pondered Mills. "I can't fix you at
all."

"Ah, but you will. Le' me see. Was it Beira, eh?"

Mills shook his head decidedly. "I never was in Beira," he said.

"Not Beira?" queried the stranger. "Oh, but surelee. No? Well,
Mandega's, per'aps?"

"Mandega's? Yes, I was there for a bit. I had a block of claims on
the ditch, next to old Jimmy Ryan's."

"Ah yais," said the tall man eagerly. "I know 'im. An' there you
shoot the Intendente, not? That was ver' fine. I see you coom down
all quiet, an' shoot 'im in the 'ead. It was done ver' naice, eh!"

Mills's face darkened. "He was robbin' me, the swine," he answered.
"He'd been robbin' me for six months. But that's nobody's business
but mine, and anyhow I didn't shoot him in the head. It was in the
chest. An' now, who the blazes are you?"

"You do' know me?" smiled the stranger; "but I know you. Oh, ver'
well. I see you ver' often. You see. My name is Jacques."

"Jack what?" demanded Mills.

"Not Jack--Jacques. Tha's all. All the people call me Frenchy, eh?
You don' remember?"

"No," said Mills thoughtfully; "but then I seen a good many chaps,
and I'd be like to forget some o' them. You doin' anything round
here?"

The man who called himself Jacques held up a finger. "Ah, you wan' to
know, eh? Well, I don' tell you. I fin' anything, I don' tell all the
people; I don' blow the gaff. I sit still, eh? I lie low, eh? I keep
'im all for me, eh? You see?"

"Well, of course," agreed Mills; "struck a pocket, I suppose. I
shouldn't have thought you'd have found much here. But then, of
course, you're not going to give your game away. Where's your camp? I
could do with a drink."

"Back there," said the Frenchman, pointing in the direction whence
Mills had come. "'Bout five miles. You don' wan' to come, eh? Too
far, eh?"

"Yes, I reckon it's too far," replied Mills. "I'm not mo