“Here’s the paper, Sacramento ‘Union’ of yesterday.  Look for yourself,” said Drummond, handing him the well-worn journal.  “And you see,” he added, “how darned lucky you are.  It ain’t necessary for you to produce the ring, so if that old biled owl of a Boompointer don’t giv’ it back to ye, it’s all the same.”

“And they say nobody but the finder need apply,” interrupted another.  “That shuts out Boompointer or Kanaka Joe for the matter o’ that.”

“It’s clar that it means you, Cass, ez much ez if they’d given your name,” added a third.

For Miss Porter’s sake and his own Cass had never told them of the restoration of the ring, and it was evident that Mountain Charley had also kept silent.  Cass could not speak now without violating a secret, and he was pleased that the ring itself no longer played an important part in the mystery.  But what was that mystery, and why was the ring secondary to himself?  Why was so much stress laid upon his finding it?

“You see,” said Drummond, as if answering his unspoken thought, “that’ar gal—­for it is a gal in course—­hez read all about it in the papers, and hez sort o’ took a shine to ye.  It don’t make a bit o’ difference who in thunder Cass is or waz, for I reckon she’s kicked him over by this time”—­

“Sarved him right, too, for losing the girl’s ring and then lying low and keeping dark about it,” interrupted a sympathizer.

“And she’s just weakened over the romantic, high-toned way you stuck to it,” continued Drummond, forgetting the sarcasms he had previously hurled at this romance.  Indeed the whole camp, by this time, had become convinced that it had fostered and developed a chivalrous devotion which was now on the point of pecuniary realization.  It was generally accepted that “she” was the daughter of this banker, and also felt that in the circumstances the happy father could not do less than develop the resources of Blazing Star at once.  Even if there were no relationship, what opportunity could be more fit for presenting to capital a locality that even produced engagement rings, and, as Jim Fauquier put it, “the men ez knew how to keep ’em.”  It was this sympathetic Virginian who took Cass aside with the following generous suggestion:  “If you find that you and the old gal couldn’t hitch hosses, owin’ to your not likin’ red hair or a game leg” (it may be here recorded that Blazing Star had, for no reason whatever, attributed these unprepossessing qualities to the mysterious advertiser), “you might let me in.  You might say ez how I used to jest worship that ring with you, and allers wanted to borrow it on Sundays.  If anything comes of it—­why—­we’re pardners!”