“Huh!” grunted the other, surveying him in obvious hesitation. “Well, I dunno. Me and my partner here have been workin’ down to Magdalena, and we had a scrap with some fellers and laid ’em out. Right after that, a native by the name of Baca tipped us off that they was Mackintavers’ men, and we’d better light out in a hurry. He give us a loan and said to tell you about it, so we lit out here.”
Coravel Tio seemed greatly puzzled by this tale.
“My dear sir,” he returned, slowly, “I am a curio dealer. I do not know why you were sent to me. Do you?”
“Hell, no!” The miner stared at him disgustedly. “Must ha’ been some mistake.”
“Undoubtedly. I am most sorry. However, if you are looking for work, I might be able to help you—it seems to me that someone wrote me for a couple of men. Excuse me one moment while I look up the letter. What are your names, my friends?”
“Me? I’m Joe Gilbert. My partner here is Alf Lewis.”
Coravel Tio left them, and crossed to a glassed-in box of an office. He opened a locked safe, swiftly inspected a telegraph form, and nodded to himself in a satisfied manner. He returned to the two men, tapped for a moment upon the glass counter, meditatively, then addressed them.
“Señors, I regret the mistake exceedingly. Still, if you want work, I suggest that you drive over to Domingo this afternoon with my cousin, who lives there. You may stay a day or two with him, then this friend of mine will pick you up and take you to work.”
The second man, Lewis, spoke up hesitantly.
“Minin’ is our work, mister. We ain’t no ranchers.”