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That night the roundup pulled in to the home ranch.

The visitors, headed by their host, swooped down upon the roundup wagons just when the boys were gathered together for a cigarette or two apiece and a little talk before rolling in. There was no night-guarding to do, and trouble winged afar. Sherwood Branciforte hunted out Andy Green where he lay at ease with head and shoulders propped against a wheel of the bed-wagon and gossipped with Pink and a few others.

“Look here, Green,” he said in a voice to arrest the attention of the whole camp, “I wish you’d tell the others that tale you told me this afternoon–about that ruined castle down in the hills. Mason, here, is a newspaper man; he scents a story for his paper. And the rest refuse to believe a word I say.”

“I’d hate to have a rep like that, Mr. Branciforte,” Andy said commiseratingly, and turned his big, honest gray eyes to where stood the women–two breezy young persons with sleeves rolled to tanned elbows and cowboy hats of the musical comedy brand. Also they had gay silk handkerchiefs knotted picturesquely around their throats. There was another, a giggly, gurgly lady with gray hair fluffed up into a pompadour. You know the sort. She was the kind who refuses to grow old, and so merely grows imbecile.

“Do tell us, Mr. Green,” this young old lady urged, displaying much gold by her smile. “It sounds so romantic.”

“It’s funny you never mentioned it to any of us,” put in the “old man” suspiciously.

Andy pulled himself up into a more decorous position, and turned his eyes towards his boss. “I never knew yuh took any interest in relic-hunting,” he explained mildly.

“Sherwood says you found a skeleton!” said the young old lady, shuddering pleasurably.

“Yes, I did find one–or part of one,” Andy admitted reluctantly.

“What were the relics of pottery like?” demanded one of the cowboy-hatted girls, as if she meant to test him. “I do some collecting of that sort of thing.”

Andy threw away his cigarette, and with it all compunction. “Well, I wasn’t so much interested in the dishes as in getting something to eat,” he apologized. “I saw several different kinds. One was a big, awkward looking thing and was pretty heavy, and had straight sides. Then I come across one or two more that was ornamented some. One had what looked like a fish on it, and the other I couldn’t make out very well. They didn’t look to be worth much, none of ’em.”

“Green,” said his employer steadily, “was there such a place?”

Andy returned his look honestly. “There was, and there is yet, I guess,” he asserted. “I’ll tell you how you can find it and what it’s like–if yuh doubt my words.” He glanced around and found every man, including the cook, listening intently. He picked a blade of new grass and began splitting it into tiny threads. The host found boxes for the women to sit upon, and the men sat down upon the grass.

“Before I come here to work, I was riding for the Circle C. One day I was riding away down in the Bad-lands alone and my horse slipped in some shale rock and went lame; strained his shoulder so I couldn’t ride him. That put me afoot, and climbing up and down them hills I lost my bearings and didn’t know where I was at for a day or two. I wandered around aimless, and got into a strip uh country that was new to me and plumb lonesome and wild.

“That second day is when I happened across this ruin. I was looking down into a deep, shut-in coulee, hunting water, when the sun come out and shone straight on to this place. It was right down under me; a stone ruin, with a tower on one end and kinda tumbled down so it wasn’t so awful high–the tower wasn’t. There was a–a–“