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“You know that I won’t tell Whitney about your poker playing. What I am going to tell him is that you’re a traitor to the Service.”, Jerry recognized the type at once. It was a desert rat, one of those old men who, lured by the dream of gold, haunt the desert, usually alone. Years pass over their heads in the search which never ends. At last the gold mine that they will find some day becomes merely the excuse not the aim of the unending pilgrimage. The desert, the loneliness is claiming them. If they found a mine worth the developing, probably they would sell it and blow in the proceeds and be off again as soon as possible. They have been too long away from civilization for anything to surprise them. The desert is mysterious, the loneliness makes everything possible., “Good work,” said Mr. Whitney as the boy came up. “Water slackened just in time.” Then he turned to Rutherford..