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“I’m in a devil of a hole. My mother and my little sister are coming through here on their way to the Coast. They’re going to stop off to see me. I want you to let me in on a partnership in your mine just for a day. They’ll only stay a few hours, but I want to have them think I’m making my living in a mine. You get me?”

“Sure thing, Fred. When are they due?”

“To-morrow.”

“All right. You get a lay-off from your boss and we’ll pull the deal through. I’ll tell my old partner I’ve taken you in on my share and he’ll carry out his part of it. He’s a good deal of a bonehead, but no talker. But you’ll have to put on some miner’s duds and spend to-day riding around the hills to get a little sunburn. You don’t look like a miner.”

“I know it. That worries me, too.”

Having given his promise, Kelley seemed eager to carry the plan through successfully. He was sorry for the youth, but he was sorrier for the mother who was coming with such fond pride in the success of her son–for Morse confessed that he had been writing of his “mine” for a year.

He outfitted his new partner with a pair of well-worn miner’s boots and some trousers that were stained with clay, and laughed when Fred found them several inches too long.

“You’ve got to wear ’em. No! New ones won’t work. How would it do for you to be so durn busy at the mine that I had to come down and bring your people up?”

“Good idea!” Then his face became blank. “What would I be busy about?”

“That’s so!” grinned Kelley. “Well, let’s call it your day off and I’ll be busy.”

“No, I want you to come with me to the train. I need you. You must do most of the talking–about the mine, I mean. I’ll say you’re the practical miner and I’ll refer all questions about the business to you. And we must keep out of the main street. I don’t want mother to even pass the place I’ve been operating in.”

“What if they decide to stay all night?”

“They won’t. They’re going right on. They won’t be here more than five or six hours.”

“All right. We’ll find ’em dinner up at Mrs. Finnegan’s. If they’re like most tourists they’ll think the rough-scuff ways of the Boston House great fun. By the way, how old is this little sister?”

“Oh, she must be about twenty-two.”

“Good Lord!” Kelley was dashed. He thought a minute. “Well, you attend to her and I’ll keep the old lady interested.”

“No, you’ve got to keep close to Flo. I’m more afraid of her than I am of mother. She’s sharp as tacks, and the least little ‘break’ on my part will let her in on my ‘stall.’ No, you’ve got to be on guard all the time.”

“Well, I’ll do my best, but I’m no ‘Billie dear,’ with girls. I’ve grew up on the trail, and my talk is mostly red-neck. But I mean well, as the fellow says, even if I don’t always do well.”

“Oh, you’re all right, Kelley. You look the real thing. You’ll be part of the scenery for them.”

“Spin the marble! It’s only for half a day, anyway. They can call me a hole in the ground if they want to. But you must get some tan. I tell you what you do. You go up on the hill and lay down in the sun and burn that saloon bleach off your face and neck and hands. That’s got to be done. You’ve got the complexion of a barber.”

Morse looked at his white, supple hands and felt of his smooth chin. “You’re right. It’s a dead give-away. I’ll look like a jailbird to them if I don’t color up. If I’d only known it a few days sooner I’d have started a beard.”