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THE PROSPECTOR’S STORY“No, sir, take it anyway you like, it jest naterally looks bad; an’ that’s all me an’ my pardner knows about it.”
“IT was about sixteen year ago,” Thad began at last.
“Seventeen, the middle of next month,” said Bob.
Thad continued:
“Me an’ my pardner here was comin’ in to Tucson from the Santa Rosa Mountains, which is down close to the Mexican line. We’d been out for about three months an’ was needin’ supplies. ’Long late in the afternoon of the second day from where we’d been workin’, we stopped at a little ranch house about three mile this side of the line for water. We knowed the old Mexican man an’ woman what lived there all right—’most everybody did—everybody like us old desert rats, that is—an’ didn’t nobody know any good of ’em either.”
“Some claim th
