“Reckon you’ll find him over there in the office,” was the slow answer. “Anything particklar?”
But Oliver did not reply. Riding over to the building indicated, he dismounted, followed by Gus, and rapped loudly upon the door.
“Come,” said a sharp voice from the inside; and they entered.
It was a plain room, furnished with a desk, a small safe, and half a dozen chairs. In one corner lay a number of specimens of ore; and that was all.
In front of the desk sat Colonel Mendix, deep in the perusal of a number of written statements. He glanced up in surprise as the two entered. He had expected to see some of his own workmen.
“Hello! Who are you?” he exclaimed.
“Is this Colonel Guerotaz?” asked Oliver, advancing as calmly as he could, though his heart beat as it never had before.
“That’s my name,” was the short reply. “And you are?”
“A couple of mine-hunters all the way from San Francisco,” returned Oliver. “This is my friend Mr. Gregory. My name is Oliver.”