"But you expect—ah—you expect?"
"Well, I reckon some day to make a strike like the rest."
"Anywhere, my friend?"
"Anywhere," repeated Gabriel, smiling.
"Adios," said the stranger, going to the door.
"Adios," repeated Gabriel. "Must you go to-night? What's your hurry? You're sure you feel better now?"
"Better?" answered Ramirez, with a singular smile. "Better! Look, I am so strong!"
He stretched out his arms, and expanded his chest, and walked erect to the door.
"You have cured my rheumatism, friend Gabriel. Good night."
The door closed behind him. In another moment he was in the saddle, and speeding so swiftly that, in spite of mud and darkness, in two hours he had reached the mining town where the Wingdam and Sacramento stage-coach changed horses. The next morning, while Olly and Gabriel were eating breakfast, Mr. Victor Ramirez stepped briskly from the stage that drew up at Marysville Hotel, and entered the hotel office. As the clerk looked up inquiringly, Mr. Ramirez handed him a card—