"But Fowler is not an Arizona man!" exclaimed Enoch.
"No," said Curly, "but he came out here for his health for a few years when he was just out of college. He and my oldest brother were law pardners in Phoenix. I always thought he was crooked. All lawyers are."
Enoch smiled to himself.
"Fowler sent his prospectors into Mexico after that," Mack went on reminiscently. "Curly and I were in charge of the silver mine near Rio Chacita where they struck some gushers. They were one tough crowd. We all slept in tents those days, and I remember none of us dared to light a lamp or candle because if one of those fellows saw it, they'd take a pot shot at it. One of my foremen dug a six-foot pit and set his tent over it. Then he let 'em shoot at will. Those were the days!"
"Government ought to keep out of business," said Curly. "Let the
States manage their own affairs."
"What's Field sore about?" asked Enoch of Mack.
"He's just ignorant," answered Mack calmly. "Hand me some tobacco,
Curly, and quit your beefing. When you make your fortune washing gold
up in the Colorado, you can get yourself elected to Congress and do
Fowler up. In the meantime—"
"Aw, shut up, Mack," drawled Curly good-naturedly. "What are you trying to do, ruin my reputation with Just Smith here? By the way, Just, you haven't told us what your work is."
"I'm a lawyer," said Enoch solemnly.
The three men stared at each other in the fire glow. Suddenly Enoch burst into a hearty laugh, in which the others joined.