ir and the shaving of her scalp. No doubt, while he was
unconscious, Drummond and Lucy had made a copy of what was on the paper.

To Hiram's great disappointment he found on reaching Ragtown late that
afternoon that Twitter-or-Tweet had driven to Los Angeles on business.
He hunted about for another machine, but there seemed to be none in
town that he could hire. There was Drummond's, of course, but to deal
with him was out of the question.

"Hello, Hiram boy!" Lucy called sweetly as he walked past the shooting
gallery. "You look worried. Whassa malla? Jo fired you?"

"Not yet," said Hiram briefly. "I was looking for a machine so that I
could catch up with the outfit, but can't seem to locate one."

"Not many about town this time of year," she commented. "Did you get
so cuckooed Jo had to leave you behind to sober up, Wild Cat? And now
you've got to chase her, eh? 'Fraid Heine or some of 'em'll get her
away from you if you don't stick around--that it?"

To this Hiram smiled with cold politeness, but, made no reply, passing
on down the street.

He would be forced to wait until morning. Then, provided Tweet had not
returned, he would have to ride Babe over the mountains and reach
Jerkline Jo at least before she had started back. After all, there was
no great hurry. The gold had lain where it did for countless
centuries. It would continue to lie so for a few days more, perhaps.

Tweet did not return that night, and at dawn Hiram was away toward the
mountains on the black mare, the precious paper secreted in his shirt.
He was ten miles from Ragtown before it occurred to him what a fool he
had been in not making a copy of it. Any one of a hundred things might
happen to it. Still, the crazy prospector had carried it through all
the years and had lost it.

He wondered if it would not be a practical idea to commit it to memory.
Why, certainly--that was the thing to do.

He was nearing such foothills as the abrupt mountain range boasted when
he decided not only to memorize it, but to make a copy on an envelope
which was in his pocket. It had covered a letter from Uncle Sebastian
Burris, Hiram's benefactor, up there in Mendocino County. He had found
it awaiting him the night before at Ragtown. He and Uncle Sebastian
had kept up a correspondence ever since Hiram had come south.

Although he had no pencil, it occurred to him that he could write with
the lead bullet of one of his revolver cartridges, which