"That was some dream, Pink." "The professor," resumed Ballard, "was running along the trail, hat off, his bald head glimmering in the sun, and the tails of his long coat flying out behind.

Three or four nuggets behind him, running after him as fast as they could go, were several hard-looking citizens.

That's about all.

For three times, now, I've seen the prof chased over that golden trail by desperadoes.

I've never be able to see how the chase came out, for always, just at the critical moment, I'd wake up.