gy stood securely tethered below.
The surries drove up and deposited their burdens. Bob took his place at
table to be served with an abundant, hot and well-cooked meal.

The ice had been broken. Everybody laughed and joked. Some of the men
removed their coats in order to be more comfortable. The young salesmen
had laboured successfully to bring these strangers to a feeling of
partnership in at least the aims of the Company, of partisanship against
the claims of other less-favoured valleys than Lucky. During a pause in
the fun, one of the "prospects," an elderly, white-whiskered farmer of
the more prosperous type, nodded toward the brook.

"That sounds good," said he.

"It's the supply for the Lucky Lands," replied Selwyn. "It ought to
sound good."

"There's mighty few flowing creeks in California this far out from the
mountains," interposed another salesman. "You know out here, except in
the rainy season, the rivers all flow bottom-up."

They all guffawed at this ancient and mild joke. The old farmer wagged
his head.

"Water is King," said he solemnly, as though voicing an original and
profound thought.

A look of satisfaction overspread the countenance of the particular
salesman who had the old farmer in charge. When you can get your
"prospect" to adopt your catchword and enunciate it with conviction, he
is yours!

After the meal Bob, unnoticed, wandered off up the canon. He had
ascertained that the excursionists would not leave the spot for two
hours yet, and he welcomed the chance for exercise. Accordingly he set
himself to follow the creek, the one stream of pure and limpid water
that did not flow bottom-up. At first this was easy enough, but after a
while the canon narrowed, and Bob found himself compelled to clamber
over rocks and boulders, to push his way through thickets of brush and
clinging vines, finally even to scale a precipitous and tangled side
hill over which the stream fell in a series of waterfalls. Once past
this obstruction, however, the country widened again. Bob stood in the
bed of a broad, flat wash flanked by low hills. Before him, and still
some miles distant, rose the mountains in which the stream found its
source.

Bob stood still for a moment, his hat in his hand, enjoying the tepid
odours, the warm sun and the calls of innumerable birds. Then he became
aware of a faint and intermittent throb--_put-put_ (pause) _put_
(pause), _put-put-put!_

"Gasoline engine," said he to himself