“I see you are,” she answered dryly.

Followed by his brown shadows at a respectful distance, Dick walked back to the hotel whistling gaily.

“Some one die and leave you a million dollars, son?” inquired the old miner, with amiable sarcasm.

“Me, I’m just happy because I’m not a Chink,” explained his friend, and passed to the hotel writing-room.

He sat down, equipped himself with stationery, and selected a new point for a pen.  Half a dozen times he made a start and as often threw a crumpled sheet into the waste-paper basket.  It took him nearly an hour to compose an epistle that suited him.  What he had finally to content himself with was as follows: 

“DEAR MADAM:—­Please find inclosed a bundle of letters that apparently belong to you.  They have just come into my possession.  I therefore send them to you without delay.  Your attention is particularly called to the one marked ‘Exhibit A.’

  “Very truly yours, RICHARD MUIR GORDON.”

He wrapped up the letters, including his own, sealed the package carefully, and walked downtown to the post office.  Here he wrote upon the cover the name and address of Miss Valencia Valdes, then registered the little parcel with a request for a signed receipt after delivery at its destination.

Davis noticed that at dinner his friend was more gay than usual.

“You ce’tainly must have come into that million I mentioned, judging by your actions,” he insisted, with a smile.

“Wrong guess, Steve.  I’ve just been giving away a million.  That’s why I’m hilarious.”

“You’ll have to give me an easier one, son.  Didn’t know you had a million.”

“Oh, well!  A million, or a half, or a quarter, whatever the Moreno claim is worth.  I’m not counting nickels.  An hour ago I had it in my fist.  I’ve just mailed it, very respectfully yours, to my friend the enemy.”  “Suppose you talk simple American that your Uncle Steve can understand, boy.  What have you been up to?”

Dick told him exultantly.

“But, good Lord, why for did you make such a play?  You had ’em where the wool was short.  Now you’ve let loose and you’ll have to wait ’steen years while the courts eat up all the profits.  Of all the mule-headed chumps——­”

“Hold your horses, Steve.  I know what I’m doing.  Said I was a spy and a thief and a liar, didn’t she?  Threw the hot shot into me proper for a cheap skate swindler, eh?” The young man laid down his knife, leaned across the table, and wagged a forefinger at Davis.  “What do you reckon that young woman is going to think of herself when she opens that registered package and finds the letter that would have put the rollers under her claim muy pronto?”

“Think!  She’ll think you the biggest burro that ever brayed on the San Jacinto range.  She’ll have a commission appointed to examine you for lunacy.  What in Mexico is ailin’ you, anyhow?  You’re sick.  That’s what’s wrong.  Love-sick, by Moses!” exploded his friend.