On the street a few minutes later Pat growled his disappointment.
"The divil take a man wid no bowels."

Ignoring his friend's complaint, Texas returned meditatively; "Do
you think, Pat, that there might be anything in what that there gent
said? In spite o' what we seen of him on that trip, Jefferson Worth
is sure a cold proposition. Give it to me straight. What will he do
for the little one?"

"An' it's just fwhat we see'd on that thrip that makes me think ut's
a question av fwhat the little girl will do to him," answered Pat,
thereby sustaining the reputation of his race.




CHAPTER IV.

YOU'D BETTER MAKE IT NINETY.


Fifteen years of a changing age left few marks on Rubio City.
Luxurious overland trains, filled with tourists, now stopped at the
depot where, under the pepper trees, sadly civilized Indians sold
Kansas City and New Jersey-made curios--stopped and went on again
along the rim of The King's Basin, through San Antonio Pass to the
great cities on the western edge of the continent. But the town on
the banks of the Colorado, in an almost rainless land, had little to
build upon. Still on the street mingled the old-timers from desert,
mountain and plain; from prospecting trip, mine or ranch; the