Solange remained standing, puzzled.
“That is queer,” she said. “Why is he frightened? I did not mean to startle him. I suppose he is shy.”
“No. Just locoed, like all them prospectors,” said Sucatash. “Furthermore, he’s ornery, ma’am. Probably don’t like this talk of killin’. They say he beefed Panamint Charlie, his partner, some years ago and I reckon he’s a mite sensitive that a way.”
“He doesn’t seem to know where the mine is,” said Solange. “Nor do you, mademoiselle?”
“Me?” said Marian, airily. “If I knew where that mine was, believe me, you’d be late looking for it. I’d have been settled on it long ago.”
“I wish,” said Solange, “that I knew what to do. Perhaps, if this unspeakable De Launay were here——”
“I can telephone the Greek’s and see if he’s there,” 121 suggested MacKay. Solange assented and he hurried to a telephone.
“It ain’t likely he knows much that will help, mad’mo’selle,” said Sucatash, also eager to aid, “but my old man was around here when these hostilities was pulled off, and it’s possible he might help you. He could tell you as much as any one, I reckon.”
“Your father?”
“Yes, ma’am. I recommend that you get your outfit together, except fer hosses, hire a car to take it out and start from our ranch at Willow Spring. It’s right near the mountains and not far from Shoestring Cañon, which it’s likely you’ll have to go that way to get into the hills. And you’ll be able to get all the hosses you want right there.”