"I want you to answer me—yes or no. Shall I keep my stock, or sell it?"

"You keep it," he answered, and avoided her eye until she climbed out and entered the house.



CHAPTER VIII

THE TIP

"Well?" inquired the Widow as her daughter came back from her ride with Wiley Holman; but Virginia was not giving out confidences. At last, and by a trick, she had surprised the truth from Wiley and he had told her to keep her stock. For weeks, for months, he had told her and everybody else that the Paymaster was not worth having; but when she had drooped her lashes and asked him for his opinion he had told her not to sell. Not hesitatingly nor doubtfully, or with any crafty intent; but honestly, as a friend, perhaps as a lover—and then he had looked away. He knew, of course, how his past actions must appear in the light of this later advice; but he had told her the truth and gone. The question was: What should she do?

Virginia returned to her room and locked the door while her mother stormed around outside and at last she came to a decision. What Wiley had told her had been said in strictest confidence and it would not be fair to pass it on; but if he advised her not to sell he had a reason for his advice, and that reason was not far to find. It was in that white stone that he had stolen from her collection, and in the white quartz he had gathered from the dump. He claimed, of course, that he had not had her specimen assayed; but why, then, had he come back for more? And why had he been so careful to tell her and everyone that he would not take the Paymaster as a gift? As a matter of fact, he owned it that minute by virtue of his delinquent tax-sale, and his goings and comings had been nicely timed to enable him to keep track of his property. He was shrewd, that was all, but now she could read him; for he had spoken, for once, from his heart.

The mail that night bore a sample of white quartz to a custom assayer in Vegas, but Virginia guarded her secret well. She had gained it by wiles that were not absolutely straight-forward, in that she had squeezed Wiley's hand in return, and since by so doing she had compromised with her conscience she placated it by withholding the great news. If she told her mother she would create a scene with Blount and demand the return of her stock; and the secret would get out and everybody would be buying stock and Wiley would blame it on her. No, everything must be kept dark and she mailed her sample when even the postmistress was gone. Perhaps Wiley was right in his extreme subterfuges and in always covering up his hand, but she would show him that there were others just as smart. She would take a leaf from his book and play a lone hand, too; only now, of course, she could not leave town.

"Virginia!" scolded the Widow, when for the hundredth time she had discovered her dawdling at her packing. "If you don't get up and come and help me this minute I'll unpack and let you go alone."

"Well, let's both unpack," said Virginia thoughtfully, and the Widow sat down with a crash.

"I knew it!" she cried. "Ever since that Wiley Holman——"

"Now, you hush up!" returned Virginia, flushing angrily. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Well, if I don't know I can guess; but I never thought a Huff——"

"Oh, you make me tired!" exclaimed Virginia, spitefully. "I'm staying here to watch that mine."

"That—mine!" The Widow repeated it slowly and her eyes opened up big with triumph. "Virginia, do you mean to say you got the best of that whipper-snapper and——"

"No, nothing of the kind! No! Can't you hear me? Oh, Mother, you'd drive a person crazy!"

"I—see!" observed the Widow and stood nodding her head as Virginia went on with her protests. "Oh, my Lord!" she burst out, "and I put up all my stock for a measly eight hundred dollars! That scoundrelly Blount—I saw it in his eye the minute I mentioned my stock! He's tricked me, the rascal; but I'll fool him yet—I'll pay him back and get my stock!"

"You'll pay him back? Why, you've spent half the money to redeem your jewels and the diamonds!"

"Well, I'll pawn them again. Oh, it makes me wild to think how that rascal has tricked me!"

"But, Mother," protested Virginia, "he hasn't done any work yet. They haven't made any strike at the mine. Why not let it go until they pump out the water and really find some ore? And besides, how could Wiley know anything about it? He's never been down the shaft."

"But—why you told me yourself——"

"I never told you anything!" burst out Virginia tearfully. "You just jump at everything like a flea. And now you'll tell everybody, and Wiley'll say I did it, and——"

"Virginia Huff!" cried her mother, dramatically, "are you in love with that—thief?"

"He is not! No, I am not! Oh, I wish you'd quit talking to me—I tell you he never told me anything!"

"Well, for goodness sake!" exclaimed the Widow pityingly, and stalked off to think it over.

"You, Charley!" she exclaimed as she found Death Valley on the gallery pretending to nail up a box, "you leave those things alone. Well, that's all right; we've changed our minds and now we're going to stay."

"That's good," replied Charley, laying his hammer aside, "I've been telling 'em so for days. It's coming everywhere; all the old camps are opening up, but Keno will beat them all."

"Yes, that's right," assented the Widow absently, and as she bustled away to begin her unpacking, Death Valley looked at Heine and leered.

"Didn't I tell you!" he crowed and, scuttling back to get his six-shooter, he went out and began re-locating claims. That was the beginning. The real rush came later when the pumps began to throb in the Paymaster. A stream of water like a sheet of silver flowed down the side of the dump and as if it's touch had brought forth men from the desert sands, the old-timers came drifting in. Once more the vacant sidewalks resounded to the thud of sturdy hob-nailed boots; and along with the locaters came pumpmen and miners to sound the flooded depths of the Paymaster.

It was a great mine, a famous mine, the richest in all the West; within twenty months it had produced twelve million dollars and the lower levels had never been touched. But what was twelve million to what it would turn out when they located the hidden ore-body? On its record alone the Paymaster was a world-beater, but the ground had barely been scratched. Even Samuel Blount, who was cold as a stone and had sold out the entire town, even he had caught the contagion; and he was talking large on the bank corner when Holman came back through town.

Wiley drove in from the north, his face burned by sun and wind and his machine weighed down with sacks of samples, but when he saw the crowd, and Blount in the middle of it, he threw on his brakes with a jerk.

"Hello!" he hailed. "What's all the excitement? Has the Paymaster made a strike?"

All eyes turned to Blount, who stepped down ponderously and waddled out to the auto. He was a very heavy man, with his mouth on one side and a mild, deceiving smile; and as he shook hands perfunctorily he glanced uneasily at Wiley, for he had heard about the tax-sale.

"Why, no," he replied, "no strike as yet. How's everything with you, Mr. Holman?"

"Fine and dandy, I guess," returned Wiley civilly. "Where did all these men jump up from?"

"Oh, they just dropped in, or stopped over in passing. Do you still take an interest in mines?"

"Well, yes," responded Wiley. "I'm a mining engineer, and so naturally I do take quite an interest. And by the way, Mr. Blount, did it ever occur to you that the Paymaster has been sold for taxes? Oh, that's all right, that's all right; I didn't know whether you'd heard about it—do you recognize my title to the mine?"

"Well," began Blount, and then he smiled appeasingly, "I didn't just know where to reach you. Of course, according to law, you do hold the title; but I suppose you know that the stockholders of the company have five years in which to buy back the mine. Yes, that is the law; but I thought under the circumstances—the mine lying idle and all—you might be willing to waive your strict rights in the interests of, well, harmony."

"I get you," answered Wiley, glancing at the staring onlookers, "and of course these gentlemen are our witnesses. You acknowledge my title, and that every bit of your work is being done on another man's ground; but, of course, if you make a strike I won't put any obstacles in your way. I'm for harmony, Mr. Blount, as big as a wolf; but there's one thing I want to ask you. Did you or did you not employ this Stiff Neck George to act as guard on the mine? Because two months ago, after I'd bought in the Paymaster for taxes, I went over to inspect the ground and Stiff Neck George——"

"Oh, no! Oh dear, no!" protested Blount vigorously. "He was acting for himself. I heard about his actions, but I had nothing to do with them—I never even knew about it till lately."

"But was he in your employ at the time of the shooting, and did you tell him to drive off all comers? Because——"

"No! My dear boy, of course not! But come over to my office; I want to talk with you, Wiley."

The banker beamed upon him affectionately and, shaking out a white handkerchief, wiped the sudden sweat from his brow; and then Wiley leapt to the ground.

"All right," he said, "but let's go and see the mine first."

He strapped on his pistol and waited expectantly and at last Blount breathed heavily and assented. Nothing more was said as they went across the flat and toiled up the trail to the mine. Wiley walked behind and as they mounted to the shaft-house his eyes wandered restlessly about; until, at the tool-shed, they suddenly focussed and a half-crouching man stepped out. He was tall and gnarly and the point of his chin rested stiffly on the slope of his shoulder. It was Stiff Neck George and he kept a crook in his elbow as he glanced from Blount to Wiley.

"How's this?" demanded Wiley, putting Blount between him and George, "what's this man doing up here?"

"Why, that's George," faltered Blount, "George Norcross, you know. He works for me around the mine."

"Oh, he does, eh?" observed Wiley, in the cold tones of an examining lawyer. "How long has he been in your employ?"

"Oh, since we opened up—that's all—just temporarily. This gentleman is all right, George; you can go."

Stiff Neck George stood silent, his sunken eyes on Wiley, his sunburned lips parted in a grin, and then he turned and spat.

"Eh, heh; hiding!" he chuckled and, stung by the taunt, Wiley stepped out into the open. His gun was pulled forward, his jaws set hard, and he looked the hired man-killer in the eye.

"Don't you think it," he said, "I know you too well. You're afraid to fight in the day-time; you dirty, sneaking murderer!"

He waited, poised, but George only laughed silently, though his poisonous eyes began to gleam.

"What are you doing on my ground?" demanded Wiley, advancing threateningly with his pistol raised. "Don't you know I own this mine?"

"No," snarled Stiff Neck George, coming suddenly to a crouch, "and, furthermore, I don't give a damn!"

"Now, now, George," broke in Blount, "let's not have any words. Mr. Holman holds the title to this claim."

"Heh—Holman!" mocked George, "Honest John's boy—eh?" He laughed insultingly and spat against the wind and Wiley's lip curled up scornfully.

"Yes—Honest John," he repeated evenly. "And it's a wonder to me you don't take a few lessons and learn to spit clear of your chin."

"You shut up!" snapped George as venomous as a rattlesnake. "Your damned old father was a thief!"

"You're a liar!" yelled Wiley and, swinging his pistol like a club, he made a rush at the startled gunman. His eyes were flashing with a wild, reckless fury and as Stiff Neck George dodged and broke to run he leapt in and placed a fierce kick. "Now you git, you old dastard!" he shouted hoarsely and as George went down he grabbed him by the trousers and sent him sprawling down the dump. Sand, rocks and waste went avalanching after him, and a loose boulder thundered in his wake, until, at the bottom George scrambled to his feet and stood motionless, looking back. His head sank lower as he saw Wiley watching him and he slunk down closer to the ground, then with the swiftness of a panther that has marked down its prey he turned and skulked away.

"That's bad business, Wiley," protested Blount half-heartedly and Wiley nodded assent.

"Yes," he said, "he's dangerous now. I should have killed the dastard."



CHAPTER IX

A PEACE TALK

While his blood was pounding and his heart was high, Wiley Holman went down into his mine. He rode down on the bucket, deftly balanced on the rim and fending off the wall with one hand, and when he came up he was smiling. Not smiling with his lips, but far back in his eyes, like a man who has found something good. Perhaps Blount surprised the look before it had fled for he beamed upon Wiley benevolently.

"Well, Wiley, my boy," he began confidentially as he drew him off to one side, "I'm glad to see you're pleased. The gold is there—I find that everyone thinks so—all we need now is a little co-operation. That's all we need now—peace. We should lay aside all personal feelings and old animosities and join hands to make the Paymaster a success."

"That's right, that's right," agreed Wiley cheerfully, "there's nobody believes in peace more than I do. But all the same," he went on almost savagely, "you've got to get rid of old George. I'm for peace, you understand, but if I find him here again—well, I'll have to take over the property. He's nothing but a professional murderer."

"Yes, I know," explained Blount, "he's a dangerous man—but I don't like to let an old man starve. He's got a right to live the same as any of us, and, since he can't work—well, I gave him a job as watchman."

"Well, all right," grumbled Wiley, "if you want to be charitable; but I suppose you know that, under the law, you're responsible for the acts of your agents?"

"That's all right, that's all right," burst out Blount impatiently, "I'll never hire him again. He refused to obey my orders and——"

"And he tried to kill me!" broke in Wiley angrily, but Blount had thrown up both hands.

"Oh, now, Wiley," he protested, "why can't we be reasonable? Why can't we get together on this?"

"We can," returned Wiley, "but you've got to show me that you're not trying to jump my claim."

"Oh, you know," exclaimed Blount, "as well as I do that a tax sale is never binding. The owners of the property are given five years' time——"

"It is binding," corrected Wiley, "until the property is bought back—and I happen to be holding the deed. Now, here's the point—what authority have you got for coming in here and working this property?"

"Well, you may as well know," replied Blount shortly, "that I own a majority of the stock."

"Aha!" burst out Wiley. "I was listening for that. So you're the Honest John?"

"What do you mean?" demanded Blount and, seeing the anger in his eyes, he hastened to head off the storm. "No, now listen to me, Wiley; it's not the way you think. I knew your father well, and I always found him the soul of honor; but I never liked to say anything, because Colonel Huff was my partner, too. So, when this trouble arose, I tried to remain neutral, without joining sides with either. It pained me very much to have people make remarks reflecting upon the honesty of your father, but as the confidant of both it was hardly in good taste for me to give out what I knew. So I let the matter go, hoping that time would heal the breach; but now that the Colonel is dead——"

"Aha!" breathed Wiley and Blount nodded his head lugubriously.

"Yes," he said, "that is the way it was. Your father was absolutely honest."

"Well, but who sold the stock, and then bought it back—and put all the blame on my father?"

"I can't tell you," answered Blount. "I never speak evil of the dead—but the Colonel was a very poor business man."

"Yes, he was," agreed Wiley, and then, after a silence: "How did it happen that you got all his stock?"

"Well, on mortgages and notes; and now as collateral on a loan that I made his widow. I own a clean majority of the stock."

"Oh, you do, eh?" observed Wiley and rubbed his jaw thoughtfully while Blount looked mildly on. "Well, what are you going to do?"

"Why, I'd like to buy back that tax deed," answered Blount amiably, "and get control of my property."

"Oh," said Wiley, and looked down the valley with eyes that squinted shrewdly at the sun. "All right," he agreed, "just to show you that I'm a sport, I'll give you a quit-claim deed right now for the sum of one hundred dollars."

"You will?" challenged Blount, reaching tremulously for his fountain pen and then he paused at a thought. "Very well," he said, but as he filled out the form he stopped and gazed uneasily at Wiley. Here was a mining engineer selling a possessory right to the Paymaster for the sum of one hundred dollars; while he, a banker, was spending a hundred dollars a day in what had proved so far to be dead work. "Er—I haven't any money with me," he suggested at length. "Perhaps—well, perhaps you could wait?"

"Sure!" replied Wiley, rising up from where he was seated, "I'll wait for anything, except my supper. Where's the best place to eat in town, now?"

"Why, at Mrs. Huff's," returned Blount in surprise. "But about this quit-claim, perhaps a check would do as well?"

"What, are the Huffs still here?" exclaimed Wiley, starting off. "Why, I thought——"

"No, they decided to stay," answered Blount, following after him. "But now, Wiley, about this quit-claim?"

"Well, gimme your check! Or keep it, I don't care—I came away without my breakfast this morning."

He strode off down the trail and Blount pulled up short and stood gazing after him blankly, then he shouted to him frantically and hurried down the slope to where Wiley was waiting impatiently.

"Here, just sign this," he panted. "I'll write you out a check. But what's the matter, Wiley—didn't the mine show up as expected?"

Wiley muttered unintelligibly as he signed the quit-claim which he retained until he had looked over the check. Then he folded up the check and kissed it surreptitiously before he stored it away in his pocketbook.

"Why, yes," he said, "it shows up fine. I'll see you later, down at the house."

Blount sat down suddenly, but as Wiley clattered off he shouted a warning after him.

"Oh, Wiley, please don't mention that matter I spoke of!"

"What matter?" yelled back Wiley and at another disquieting thought Blount jumped up and came galloping after him.

"The matter of the Colonel," he panted in his ear, "and here's another thing, Wiley. You know Mrs. Huff—she's absolutely impossible and—well, she's been making me quite a little trouble. Now as a personal favor, please don't lend her any money or help her to get back her stock; because if you do——"

"I won't!" promised Wiley, holding up his right hand. "But say, don't stop me—I'm starving."

He ran down the trail, limping slightly on his game leg, and Blount sat down on a rock.

"Well, I'll be bound!" he puffed and gazed at the quit-claim ruefully.

The tables were all set when Wiley re-entered the dining-room from which he had retreated once before in such haste, and Virginia was there and waiting, though her smile was a trifle uncertain. A great deal of water had flowed down the gulch since he had advised her to keep her stock, but the assayer at Vegas was worse than negligent—he had not reported on the piece of white rock. Therefore she hardly knew, being still in the dark as to his motives in giving the advice, whether to greet Wiley as her savior or to receive him coldly, as a Judas. If the white quartz was full of gold that her father had overlooked—say fine gold, that would not show in the pan—then Wiley was indeed her friend; but if the quartz was barren and he had purposely deceived her in order to boom his own mine—she smiled with her lips and asked him rather faintly if he wanted his supper at once.

But if Virginia was still a Huff, remembering past treacheries and living in the expectancy of more, the Widow cast aside all petty heart-burnings in her joy at the humiliation of Stiff Neck George. Leaving Virginia in the kitchen, to fry Wiley's steak, she rushed into the dining-room with her eyes ablaze and all but shook his hand.

"Well, well," she exulted, "I'll have to take it back—you certainly did boot him good. I said you were a coward but I was watching you through my spy-glass and I nearly died a-laughing. You just walked right up to him—and you were cursing him scandalous, I could tell by the look on your face—and then all at once you made a jump and gave him that awful kick. Oh, ho, ho; you know I've always said he looked like a man that was watching for a swift kick from behind; and now—after waiting all these years—oh, ho ho—you gave him what was coming to him!"

The Widow sat down and held her sides with laughter and Wiley's grim features, that had remained set and watchful, slowly relaxed to a flattered grin. He had indeed stood up to Stiff Neck George and booted him down the dump, so that the score of that night when he had been hunted like a rabbit was more than evened up; for George had sneaked up on an unarmed man and rolled down boulders from above, but he had outfaced him, man to man and gun to gun, and kicked him down the dump to boot. Yes, the Widow might well laugh, for it would be many a long day before Stiff Neck George heard the last of that affair.

"And old Blount," laughed the Widow, "he was right there and saw it—his own hired bully, and all. Say, now Wiley, tell me all about it—what did Blount have to say? Did he tell you it was all a mistake? Yes, that's what he tells everybody, every time he gets into trouble; but he can't make excuses to me. Do you know what he's done? He's tied up all my stock as security for eight hundred dollars! What's eight hundred dollars—I turned it all in to get the best of my diamonds out of pawn. It made me feel so bad, seeing that diamond ring of yours; I just couldn't help getting them out. And now I'm flat and he's holding all my stock for a miserable little eight hundred dollars!"

She ended up strong, but Wiley sensed a touch and his expressions of sympathy were guarded.

"Now, you're a business man," she went on unheedingly. "I'll tell you what I'll do—you lend me the money to get back that stock and I'll sell it all to your father!"

"To my father!" echoed Wiley and then his face turned grim and he laughed at some hidden joke. "Not much," he said, "I like the Old Man too much. You'd better sell it back to Blount."

"To Blount? Why, hasn't your father been hounding me for months to get his hands on that stock? Well, I'd like to know then what you think you're doing? Have you gone back on your promise, or what?"

"I never made any promise," returned Wiley pacifically. "It was my father that made the offer."

"Oh, fiddlesticks!" exploded the Widow. "Well, what's the difference—you're working hand and glove!"

"Not at all," corrected Wiley, "the Old Man is raising cattle. You can't get him to look at a mine."

"Well, he offered to buy my stock!" exclaimed the Widow, badly flustered. "I'd like to know what this means?"

"It's no use talking," returned Wiley wearily, "I've told you a thousand times. If you send your stock to John Holman at Vegas, he'll give you ten cents a share; but I won't give you a cent."

"Do you mean to say," demanded the Widow incredulously, "that you don't want that stock?"

"That's it," assented Wiley. "I've just sold my tax title for a hundred dollars, to Blount."

"Oh, this will drive me mad!" cried the Widow in a frenzy. "Virginia, come in here and help me!"

Virginia came in with the steak slightly scorched and laid his dinner before Wiley. Her eyes were rather wild, for she had been listening through the doorway, but she turned to her mother inquiringly.

"He says he's sold his tax claim," wailed the Widow in despair, "for one hundred dollars—to Blount. And then he turns around and says his father will buy my stock for ten cents a share in cash. But he won't lend me the money to pay my note to Blount and get my Paymaster stock back."

"That's right," nodded Wiley, "you've got it all straight. Now let's quit before we get into a row."

He bent over the steak and, after a meaning look at Virginia, the Widow discreetly withdrew.

"We saw you fighting George," ventured Virginia at last as he seemed almost to ignore her presence. "Weren't you afraid he'd get mad and shoot you?"

"Uh, huh," he grunted, "wasn't I hiding behind Blount? No, I had him whipped from the start. Bad conscience, I reckon; these crooks are all the same—they're afraid to fight in the open."

"But your conscience is all right, eh?" suggested Virginia sarcastically, and he glanced up from under his brows.

"Yes," he said, "we've got 'em there, Virginia. Are you still holding onto that stock?"

A swift flood of shame mantled Virginia's brow and then her dark eyes flashed fire.

"Yes, I've got it," she said, "but what's the answer when you sell out your tax claim to Blount?"

"I wonder," he observed and went on with his eating while she paced restlessly to and fro.

"You told me to hold it," she burst out accusingly, "and then you turn around and sell!"

"Well, why don't you sell?" he suggested innocently, and she paused and bit her lip. Yes, why not? Why, because there were no buyers—except Wiley Holman and his father! The knowledge of her impotence almost drove her on to further madness, but another voice bade her beware. He had given her his advice, which was not to sell, and—oh, that accursed assayer! If she had his report she could flaunt it in his face or—she caught her breath and smiled.

"No," she said, "you told me not to!"

And Wiley smiled back and patted her hand.



CHAPTER X

THE BEST HEAD IN TOWN

What was Wiley Holman up to? Virginia paced the floor in a very unloverlike mood; and at last she sat down and wrote a scathing letter to the assayer, demanding her assay at once. She also enclosed one dollar in advance to test the sample for gold and silver and then, as an afterthought, she enclosed another bill and told him to test it for copper, lead, and zinc. There was something in that rock—she knew it just as well as she knew that Wiley was in love with her, and this was no time to pinch dollars. For ten years and more they had stuck there in Keno, waiting and waiting for something to happen, but now things had come to such a pass that it was better to know even the worst. For if the mine was barren and Wiley, after all, was only trying in his dumb way to help, then she must pocket her pride and sell him her stock and go away and hide her head. But if the white quartz was rich—well, that would be different; there would be several things to explain.

Yet, if the quartz was barren, why did Wiley offer to buy her stock, and if it was rich, why did he sell his tax deed? And if his father stood ready to pay ten cents a share for two hundred thousand shares of stock why did Wiley refuse to redeem her mother's holdings for a petty eight hundred dollars? He must have the money, for his diamond ring alone was worth well over a thousand dollars; and he had tried repeatedly to get possession of this same stock which he now refused to accept as a gift. Virginia thought it over until her head was in a whirl and at last she stamped her foot. The assay would tell, and if he had been trying to cheat her—she drew her lips to a thin, hard line and looked more than ever like her mother.

The work at the Paymaster went on intermittently, but Blount's early zest was lacking. For eight, yes, ten years he had waited patiently for the moment when he should get control of the mine; but now that he held it, without let or hindrance, somehow his enthusiasm flagged. Perhaps it was the fact that the timbering was expensive and that his gropings for the lost ore body came to nothing; but in the back of his mind Blount's growing distrust dated from the day he had bought Wiley's quit-claim. Wiley had come to the mine full of fury and aggressiveness, as his combat with Stiff Neck George clearly showed; but after he had gone down and inspected the workings he had sold out for one hundred dollars. And Wiley Holman was a mining engineer, with a name for Yankee shrewdness—he must have had a reason.

Blount recalled his men from the drifts where they had been working and set them to crosscutting for the vein. It was too expensive, restoring all the square-sets and clearing out the fallen rock; and he had learned to his sorrow that Colonel Huff had blown up every heading with dynamite. In that tangle of shattered timbers and caved-in walls the miners made practically no progress, for the ground was treacherous and ten years under water had left the wood soft and slippery. To be sure the hidden chute lay at the breast of some such drift; but to clear them all out, with his limited equipment and no regular engineer in charge, would run up a staggering account. So Blount began to crosscut, and to sink along the contact, but chiefly to cut down expenses.

With the railroad that had tapped the camp torn up and hauled away, every foot of timber, every stick of powder, cost twice as much as it ought. And then there was machinery, and gas and oil for the engine, and valves and spare parts for the pumps, and the board of the men, and overhead expenses—and not a single dollar coming in. Blount sat up late in his office, adding total to total, and at the end he leaned back aghast. At the very inside it was costing him two hundred dollars for every day that he operated the mine. And what was it turning back? Nothing. The mine had been gutted of every pound of ore that it would pay to sack and ship, and unless something was done to locate the lost ore body and give some guarantee of future values, well, the Paymaster would have to shut down. Blount considered it soberly, as a business man should, and then he sent for Wiley Holman.

There were others, of course, to whom he might appeal; but he sent for Wiley first. He was a mining engineer, he had had his eye on the property and—well, he probably knew something about the lost vein. So he sent a wire, and then a man; and at last Holman, M. E., arrived. He came under protest, for he had been showing a mine of his own to some four-buckle experts from the east, and when Blount made his appeal he snorted.

"Well, for the love of Miguel!" he exclaimed, starting up. "Do you think I'm going to help you for nothing? I'm a mining engineer, and the least it will cost you is five hundred dollars for a report. No, I don't think anything; and I don't know anything; and I won't take your mine on shares. I'm through—do you get me? I sold out my entire interest for one hundred dollars, cash. That puts me ahead of the game, up to date; and while I'm lucky I'll quit."

He stamped out of the office—Blount having moved into the bank building where he had formerly officiated as president—and made a break for his machine; but other eyes had marked his arrival in town and Death Valley Charley button-holed him.

"Say," he said, "do you want something good—an option on ten first-class claims? Well, come with me; I'll make you an offer that you can't hardly, possibly refuse."

He led Wiley up an alley, then whisked him around corners and back to his house behind the Widow's.

"Now, listen," he went on, when Wiley was in a chair and he had carefully fastened the door, "I'm going to show you something good."

He reached under his bed and brought out ten sacks of samples which he spread, one by one, on the table.

"Now, you see?" he said. "It's all that white quartz that you was after on the Paymaster dump. I followed the outcrop, on an extension of the Paymaster, and I took up ten, good, opened claims."

"Umm," murmured Wiley, and examined each sample with a careful, appraising eye. "Yes, pretty good, Charley; I suppose you guarantee the title? Well, how much do you want for your claims?"

"Oh, whatever you say," answered Charley modestly, "but I want two hundred dollars down."

"And about a million apiece, I suppose, for the claims? It doesn't cost me anything, you know, on an option."

"Eh, heh, heh," laughed Charley indulgently and Heine, who had been looking from face to face, jumped up and barked with delight. "Eh, heh; yes, that's good; but you know me, Mr. Holman—I ain't so crazy as they think. No, I don't talk millions with my mouth full of beans; all I want is five hundred apiece. But I got to have two hundred down."

"Oh," observed Wiley, "that's two dollars for the marriage license and the rest for the wedding journey. Well, if it's as serious as that——" He reached for his check-book and Charley cackled with merriment.

"Yes, yes," he said, "then I would be crazy. Do you know what the Colonel told me?

"'Charley,' he says, 'whatever you do, don't marry no talking woman. She'll drive you crazy, the same as I am; but don't you forget that whiskey.'"

"Oh, sure," exclaimed Wiley, beginning to write out the option, "this money is to buy whiskey for the Colonel!"

"That's it," answered Charley. "He's over across Death Valley—in the Ube-Hebes—but I can't find my burros. They—Heine, come here, sir!" Heine came up cringing and Charley slapped him soundly. "Shut up!" he commanded and as Heine crept away Death Valley began to mutter to himself. "No, of course not; he's dead," he ended ineffectively, and Wiley looked up from his writing.

"Who's dead?" he inquired, but Charley shook his head and listened through the wall.

"Look out," he said, "I can hear her coming—jest give me that two hundred now."

"Well, here's twenty," replied Wiley, passing over the money, and then there came a knock at the door.

"Come in!" called out Charley and, as he motioned Wiley to be silent, Virginia appeared in the doorway.

"Oh!" she cried, "I didn't know you were here!" But something in the way she fixed her eyes on him convinced Wiley that she had known, all the same.

"Just a matter of business," he explained with a flourish, "I'm considering an option on some of Charley's claims."

"Jest my bum claims!" mumbled Charley as Virginia glanced at him reprovingly. "Jest them ten up north of the Paymaster."

"Oh," she said and drew back towards the door, "well, don't let me break up a trade."

"You'd better sign as a witness," spoke up Wiley imperturbably, and she stepped over and looked at the paper.

"What? All ten of those claims for five hundred apiece? Why, Charley, they may be worth millions!"

"Well, put it down five million, then," suggested Wiley, grimly. "How much do you want for them, Charley?"

"Five hundred dollars apiece," answered Charley promptly, "but they's got to be two hundred down."

"Well?" inquired Wiley as Virginia still regarded him suspiciously, and then he beckoned her outside. "Say, what's the matter?" he asked reproachfully. "Let the old boy make his touch—he wants that two hundred for grub."

"He does not!" she spat back. "I'm ashamed of you, Wiley Holman; taking advantage of a crazy man like that!"

"Well, I don't know," he began in a slow, drawling tone that cut her to the quick, "he may not be as crazy as you think. I've just been offered a half interest in the Paymaster if I'll come out and take charge of it."

"You have!" she cried, starting back and staring as he regarded her with steely eyes. "Well, are you going to take it?"

"I don't know," he answered. "Thought I'd better see you first—it might be taking advantage of Blount."

"Of Blount!" she echoed and then she saw his smile and realized that he was making fun of her.

"Yes," went on Wiley, whose feelings had been ruffled, "he may be crazy, too. He sure was looking the part."

"Now don't you laugh at me!" she burst out hotly. "This isn't as funny as you think. What's going to happen to us if you take over that mine? I declare, you've been standing in with Blount!"

"I knew it," he mocked. "You catch me every time. But what about Charley here—does he get his money or not?" He turned to Death Valley, who was standing in the doorway watching their quarrel with startled eyes. "I guess you're right, Charley," he added, smiling wryly. "It must be something in the air."

"Are you going to take that offer," demanded Virginia, wrathfully, "and rob me and mother of our mine?"

"Oh, no," he answered, "I turned it down cold. I knew you wouldn't approve."

"You knew nothing of the kind!" she came back sharply, the angry tears starting in her eyes. "And I don't believe he ever made it."

"Well, ask him," suggested Wiley, and went back into the house, whereupon Death Valley closed the door.

"Yes," whispered Charley, "it's in the air—there's electricity everywhere. But what about that option?"

Wiley sat at the table, his eyes big with anger, his jaw set hard against the pain, and then he reached for his pen.

"All right, Charley," he said, "but don't you let 'em kid you—you've got the best business head in town."



CHAPTER XI

A TOUCH

The wrath of a man who is slow to anger cannot lightly be turned aside and, though Virginia drooped her lashes, the son of Honest John brushed past her without a word. She had followed him gratuitously to Death Valley's cabin and seriously questioned his good faith; and then, to fan the flames of his just resentment, she had suggested that he was telling an untruth. He had told her—and it seemed impossible—that Blount had offered him half the Paymaster, on shares; but the following morning, without a word of warning, the Paymaster Mine shut down. The pumps stopped abruptly, all the tools were removed, and as the foreman and miners who had been their boarders rolled up their beds and prepared to depart, the high-headed Virginia buried her face in her hands and retired to her bedroom to weep. And then to cap it all that miserable assayer sent in his belated report.

"Gold—a trace. Silver—blank. Copper—blank. Lead—blank. Zinc—blank."

The heavy white quartz which Wiley had made so much of was as barren as the dirt in the street. It had absolutely no value and—oh, wretched thought—he had offered to buy her stock out of charity! Out of the bigness of his heart—and then she had insulted him and accused him of robbing Death Valley Charley! In the light of this new day Death Valley was a magnate, with his check for two hundred dollars, and Virginia and her mother must either starve on in silence or accept the bounty of the Holmans. It was maddening, unbelievable—and to think what he had suffered from her, before he had finally gone off in a rage. But how sarcastic he had been when she had accused him of robbing Charley, and of standing in with Blount! He had said things then which no woman could forgive; no, not even if she were in the wrong. He had led her on to make unconsidered statements, smiling provokingly all the time; and then, when she had doubted that Blount had offered him the mine, he had said, "Well, ask him!" and shut the door in her face! And now, without asking, the question had been answered, for Blount had closed down the mine in despair and gone back to his bank in Vegas.

The Paymaster was dead, and Keno was dead; and their eight hundred dollars was gone. All the profits from the miners which they had counted upon so confidently had disappeared in a single day; and now her mother would have to pawn her diamonds again in order to get out of town. Virginia paced up and down, debating the situation and seeking some possible escape, but every door was closed. She could not appeal to Wiley, for she knew her stock was worthless, and her hold on his sympathies was broken. He was a Yankee and cold, and his anger was cold—the kind that will not burn itself out. When he had loved her it was different; there was a spark of human kindness to which she could always appeal; but now he was as cold and passionless as a statue; with his jaws shut down like iron. She gave up and went out to see Charley.

Death Valley was celebrating his sudden rise to affluence by a resort to the flowing bowl and when Virginia stepped in she found all three phonographs running and a two-gallon demijohn on the table. Death Valley himself was reposing in an armchair with one leg wrapped up in a white bandage and as she stopped the grinding phonographs and made a grab for the demijohn he held up two fingers reprovingly.

"I'm snake-bit," he croaked. "Don't take away my medicine. Do you want your Uncle Charley to die?"

"Why, Charley!" she cried, "you know you aren't snake-bit! The rattlesnakes are all holed up now."

"Yes—holed up," he nodded; "that's how I got snake-bit. It was fourteen years ago, this month. Didn't you ever hear of my snake-mine—it was one of the marvels of Arizona—a two-foot stratum of snakes. I used to hook 'em out as fast as I needed them and try out the oil to cure rheumatism; but one day I dropped one and he bit me on the leg, and it's been bad that same month ever since. Would you like to see the bite? There's the pattern of a diamond-back just as plain as anything, so I know it must have been a rattler."

He reached resolutely for the demijohn and took a hearty drink whereat Virginia sat down with a sigh.

"I'll tell you something," went on Charley confidentially. "Do you know why a snake shakes its tail? It's generating electricity to shoot in the pisen, and the longer a rattlesnake rattles——"

"Oh, now, Charley," she begged, "can't you see I'm in trouble? Well, stop drinking and listen to what I say. You can help me a lot, if you will."

"Who—me?" demanded Charley, and then he roused himself up and motioned for a dipper of water. "Well, all right," he said, "I hate to kill this whiskey——" He drank in great gulps and made a wry face as he rose up and looked around.

"Where's Heine?" he demanded. "Here Heine, Heine!"

"You drove him under the house," answered Virginia petulantly, "playing all three phonographs at once. Really, it's awful, Charley, and you'd better look out or mother will give you the bounce."

"Scolding women—talking women," mused Charley drunkenly. "Well; what do you want me to do?"

"I'm not scolding!" denied Virginia, and then as he leered at her she gave way weakly to tears. "Well, I can't help it," she wailed, "she scolds me all the time and—she simply drives me to it."

"They'll drive you crazy," murmured Charley philosophically. "There's nothing to do but hide out. But I must save the rest of that whiskey for the Colonel."

He reached for the demijohn and corked it stoutly, after which he turned to Virginia.

"Do you want some money?" he asked more kindly, bringing forth his roll as he spoke. "Well here, Virginny, there's one hundred dollars—it's nothing to your Uncle Charley. No, I got plenty more; and I'm going up the Ube-Hebes just as soon as I find my burros. They must be over to Cottonwood—there's lots of sand over there and Jinny, she's hell for rolling. No, take the money; I got it from Wiley Holman and he's got plenty more."

He dropped it in her lap, but she jumped up hastily and put it back in his hands.

"No, not that money," she said, "but listen to me, Charley; here's what I want you to do. I've got some stock in the Paymaster Mine that Wiley was trying to buy; but now—oh, you saw how he treated me yesterday—he wouldn't take it, if he knew. But Charley, you take it; and the next time you see him—well, try to get ten cents a share. We want to go away, Charley; because the mine is closed down and——"

"Yes, yes, Virginny," spoke up Death Valley, soothingly, "I'll get you the money, right away."

"But don't you tell him!" she warned in a panic, "because——"

"You ought to be ashamed," said Charley reprovingly and went out to hunt up his burros. Virginia lingered about, looking off across the desert at the road down which Wiley had sped, and at last she bowed her head. Those last words of Charley's still rang in her ears and when, towards evening, he started off down the road she watched him out of sight.

It was a long, dry road, this highway to Vegas, but twenty miles out, at Government Wells, there was water, and a good place to camp. Charley stopped there that night, and for three days more, until at last in the distance he saw Wiley's white racer at the tip of a streamer of dust. He went by like the wind but when he spied Charley he slowed down and backed up to his camp.

"Hel-lo there, Old Timer," he hailed in surprise, "what are you doing, away out here?"

"Oh, rambling around," responded Charley airily, waving his hand at the world at large. "It's good for man to be alone, away from them scolding women."

The shadow of a smile passed over Wiley's bronzed face and then he became suddenly grim.

"Bum scripture, Charley," he said, nodding shortly, "but you may be right, at that. What's the excitement around beautiful Keno?"

"I don't know," lied Charley. "Ain't been in town since you was there, but she was sure booming, then. Say, I've got some stock in that Paymaster Mine that I might let you have, for cash. I'm burnt out on the town—they's too many people in it—I'm going back to the Ube-Hebes."

"Well, take me along, then," suggested Wiley, "and we'll bring back a car-load of that gold. Maybe then I could buy your stock."

"No, you buy it now," went on Charley insistently. "I'm broke and I need the money."

"Oh, you do, eh?" jested Wiley. "Still thinking about that wedding trip? Well, I may need that money myself."

"Eh, heh, heh," laughed Charley, and drawing forth a package he began to untie the strings. "Eh, heh; yes, that's right; I've been watching you young folks for some time. But I'll sell you this stock of mine cheap."

He unrolled a cloth and flashed the certificates hopefully, but Wiley did not even look at them.

"Nope," he said, "no Paymaster for me. I wouldn't accent that stock as a gift."

"But it's rich!" protested Charley, his eyes beginning to get wild. "It's full of silver and gold. I can feel the electricity when I walk over the property—there's millions and millions, right there!"

"Oh, there is, eh?" observed Wiley, and, snatching away the certificates, he ran them rapidly over. "Where'd you get these?" he asked, and Death Valley blinked, though he looked him straight in the eyes.

"Why, I—bought 'em," he faltered, "and—the Colonel gave me some. And——"

"How much do you want for them?" snapped Wiley, and Charley blinked again.

"Ten cents a share," he answered, and Wiley's stern face hardened.

"You take these back," he said, "and tell her I don't want 'em."

"Who—Virginny?" inquired Death Valley, and then he kicked his leg and looked around for Heine.

"Now, here," spoke up Wiley, "don't go to slapping that dog. How much do you want for the bunch?"

"Four hundred dollars!" barked Charley, and stood watchful and expectant as Wiley sat deep in thought.

"All right," he said, and as he wrote out the check Death Valley chuckled and leered at Heine.



CHAPTER XII

THE EXPERT

Like the way of an eagle in the air or the way of a man with a maid, the ways of a mining promoter must be shrouded in mystery and doubt. For when he wants to buy, no man will sell; and when he wants to sell, no man will buy; and when he will neither buy nor sell he is generally suspected of both. Wiley Holman had two fights and a charge of buckshot to prove that he wanted the Paymaster, and the fact that he had refused a half interest for nothing to prove that he did not want it. Also he had sold his tax-title to the property for the sum of one hundred dollars. What then did it signify when he bought Virginia's despised stock for four hundred dollars, cash down? The man who could answer that could explain the way of a man with a maid.

Samuel J. Blount made the claim—and he had his pile to prove it—that he could think a little closer than most men. A little closer, and a little farther; but the Paymaster had been his downfall. He had played the long game to get possession of the mine, only to find he had bought a white elephant. Every day that he held it he had thrown good money after bad and he sent out a search party for Wiley Holman. Wiley had refused half the mine, but that only proved that half of the mine did not appeal to him—perhaps he would take it all. Samuel J. had been a student for a good many years in the school of predatory business and he had learned the rules of the game. He knew that the buyer always decried the goods and magnified each tiny defect, whereas the seller by as natural a process played up every virtue to the limit. But any man who inspected the goods was a potential buyer of the same, and Wiley had shown more than a passing interest in the fate of the unlucky Paymaster. And Wiley was a mining engineer.

They met in the glassed-in office of Blount in the ornate Bank of Vegas and for a half an hour or more Wiley sat tipped back in his chair while Blount talked of everything in general. It was a way he had, never to approach anything directly; but Wiley favored more direct methods.

"I understood," he remarked, bringing his chair down with a bang, "that you wanted to see me on business?"

"Yes, yes, Wiley," soothed Blount, "now please don't rush off—I wanted to see you about the Paymaster."

"Well, shoot," returned Wiley, "but don't ask my advice, unless you're ready to pay for it."

He tipped back his chair and sat waiting patiently while Blount unraveled his thoughts. He could think closer than most men, but not quicker, and the Paymaster was a tangled affair.

"I have been told," he began at last, "that you are still buying Paymaster stock. Or at least—well, a check of yours came through here endorsed by Death Valley Charley, and Virginia Huff. Oh, yes, yes; that's your business, of course; but here's the point I'm coming to; it won't do you any good to buy in that stock because I've got a majority of it right here in my vault. If you want to control the Paymaster, don't go to someone else—I'm the man you want to see."

He tapped himself on the breast and smiled impressively, and Wiley nodded his head.

"All right," he said imperturbably, "when I want the Paymaster Mine I'll know right where to go."

"Yes, you come to me," went on Blount after a minute, "and I'll do the best I can." He paused expectantly, but Wiley did not speak, so he went on blandly, as before. "The stock, of course, is nonassessable and the taxes are very small. I intend from now on to keep them paid up, so there will be no further tax sales. The stock of Mrs. Huff, which I now hold as collateral security, is practically mine already, as she has defaulted on her first month's interest and is preparing to leave the state. Of course, there is the stock which your father is holding—as I calculate, something over two hundred thousand shares—and what little remains outside; but if you are interested in the mine I am the man to talk to, so what would you like to propose?"

"Well," began Wiley, and then he stopped and seemed to be lost in thought. "I'll tell you," he said, "I was interested in the Paymaster—I believe there's something there; but I've got some other propositions that I can handle a little easier, so if you don't mind we'll wait a while."

"No, but Wiley," protested Blount as his man rose up to go, "now just sit down; I'm not quite through. Now I know just as well as you do that you take a great interest in that mine. Your troubles with Mrs. Huff and Stiff Neck George prove conclusively that such is the case; and I am convinced that, either from your father or some other source, you have valuable inside information. Now I must admit that I'm not a mining man and my management was not a success; but with your technical education and all the rest, I am convinced that the results would be different. No, there's no use denying it, because I know myself that you've been buying up Paymaster stock."

"Sure," agreed Wiley, "I bought four hundred dollars worth. That would break the Bank of Vegas. But you've got lots of money—why don't you hire a competent mining man and go after that lost ore-body yourself?"

"I may do that," replied Blount easily, "but in the meantime why not make me a reasonable offer, or take the mine on shares?"

"If the Paymaster," observed Wiley, "was the only mine in the world, I'd make you a proposition in a minute. But a man in my position doesn't have to buy his mines, and I never work anything on shares."

"Well, now Wiley, I've got another proposition, which you may or may not approve; but there's no harm, I hope, if I mention it. You know there's been a difference between me and your father since—well, since the Paymaster shut down. I respect him very much and have nothing but the kindliest feelings towards him but he—well, you know how it is. But I have been informed, Wiley, that since Colonel Huff's death, your father has been bidding for his stock. In fact, I have seen a letter written to Mrs. Huff in which he offers her ten cents a share. Now, of course, if you want to gain control of the company, I'm willing to do what's right; and so, after thinking it over, I have come to the conclusion that I will accept that offer now."

"Umm," responded Wiley, squinting his eyes down shrewdly, "how much would that come to, in all?"

"Well, twenty-one thousand, eight hundred dollars, for what I received from Mrs. Huff; but of course—well, he'd have to buy a little more of me in order to get positive control."

"How much more?" asked Wiley, but Blount's crooked mouth pulled down in a crafty smile.

"We can discuss that later," he suggested mildly. "Do you think he will buy the stock?"

"Not if he takes my advice," answered Wiley coldly. "I can buy the whole block for eight hundred."

"How?"

"Why, by loaning Mrs. Huff the eight hundred dollars with which to take up her note."

"I doubt it," replied Blount, and his mild, deceiving eyes took on the faintest shadow of a threat. "Mrs. Huff has defaulted on her first month's interest and, according to the terms of her note, the collateral automatically passes to me."

"Well, keep it, then," burst out Wiley, "and I hope to God you get stuck for every cent. Your old mine isn't worth a dam'!"

"Why—Wiley!" gasped Blount, quite shaken for the moment by this disastrous piece of news, "what reason have you for thinking that?"

"Give me a hundred dollars as an advising expert and I'll tell you—and show you, too."

"No, I hardly think so," answered Blount at last. "And, Wiley, you don't think so, either."

"No?" challenged Wiley. "Well, you just watch my smoke and see whether I do or not."

He had closed the door before Blount dragged him back like a haggling, relentless pawn-broker.

"Make me a proposition," he clamored desperately, "and if it's anywhere in reason I'll accept it."

"All right," answered Wiley, "but show me what you've got—I don't buy any cat in a bag."

"And will you make me an offer?" demanded Blount hopefully. "Will you take the whole thing off my hands?"

"I will if it's good—but you'll have to show me first that you've got a controlling share of the stock. And another thing, Mr. Blount, since our time is equally valuable, let's cut out this four-flushing stuff. If I'd wanted your mine so awfully bad I'd have held on to it when the title was mine; but I turned it back to you, just to let you look it over, and to keep the peace for once. But now, if you're satisfied, I might look it over; but it'll be under a bond and lease. The parties I represent are strictly business, and we make it a rule to tie everything up tight before we put out a cent. I'll want an option on every share you have, and I can't offer more than ten per cent royalty; but to compensate for that I'll agree to pay in full or vacate within six months from date."

"But how much?" demanded Blount, brushing aside all the details, "how much will you pay me a share?"

"I'll pay you," stated Wiley, "what I paid Death Valley Charley, and that's five cents a share."

"Five cents!" shrilled Blount, rising up in protest, yet jumping at the price like a trout, "five cents—why, that's practically nothing!"

"Just five cents more than nothing," observed Wiley judicially and waited for Blount to rave.

"But your father," suggested Blount with a knowing leer, "is in the market at ten."

"No, not in the market. He offered that to the Widow, but now the deal is off, because all of her stock has changed hands."

"Well, the stock is the same," suggested Blount insinuatingly. "Give me seven and a half and split the profits."

"Now don't be a crook," rapped out Wiley angrily. "Just because you would rob your own father doesn't by any means prove that I will."

"Well, you certainly implied," protested Blount with injured innocence, "that this stock was to be sold to your father. And if it is worth that to him, why is it worth less to you? You must be working together."

"No, we're not," declared Wiley. "I'm in on this alone, and have been, from the start. And just to set your mind at rest—he didn't make that offer because he wanted the stock, but to kind of help out the Widow."

"Ah," smiled Blount, and nodded his head wisely, but there was a playful light in his eyes.

"Yes—ah!" flashed back Wiley, "and if you think you're so danged smart I'll let you keep your old mine a few months."

He started for the door again but Blount dragged him back and laid a metal box on the table.

"Well, let's get down to business," he said with quick decision, and spread a heap of papers before his eyes. "There are all my Paymaster shares, and if you'll take them off my hands you can have them for six cents, cash."

"I said five," returned Wiley, as he ran through the papers, "and an option to buy in six months. But this stock of the Widow's—I can't take that at any price—the Colonel isn't legally dead."

"What?" yelled Blount, and sat down in a chair while he stared at the inscrutable Wiley.

"His body was never found and, under the law, he can't be declared dead for seven years. Mrs. Huff had no right to sell his stock."

"Oh, but he's dead, Wiley," assured Blount. "Surely there's no doubt of that. They found his burro, and his letters and everything; and where he had run wild through the sand. If that storm hadn't come up they would certainly have found his body—the Indian trailers said so; so why stick on a technicality?"

"That's the law," said Wiley. "You know it yourself. But of course, if you want to vote this stock at a Directors' meeting we can still do business on that lease."

"Oh, my Lord!" sighed Blount, and after a heavy silence he rose up and paced the floor. As for Wiley, he ran through the papers, making notes of dates and numbers, and then grimly began to fill out a legal blank.

"There's the option," he said, passing over a paper, "and I see now how you double-crossed my father. So you don't need to sign unless you want to."

"Why—er—what's that?" exclaimed Blount, coming out of his abstraction as Wiley slapped down the bundle of certificates.

"I see by these endorsements," replied Wiley, "that you sold out before the panic and bought in all this stock afterwards."

Blount started and a red line mounted up to his eyes as he hastily glanced over the option.

"Well, I'll sign it," he mumbled, and reached for the pen, but Wiley checked his hand.

"No, you ring for a notary," he said. "I want that signature acknowledged."

The notary came and ran perfunctorily through his formula, after which he left them alone.

"Now here's the bond and lease," went on Wiley curtly, "so bring on your Board of Directors and let's get this business over. By rights I ought to kill you."

There was a special meeting then of the Board of Directors of The Paymaster Mining and Milling Company, and when the bond and lease was properly drawn up, they signed it and had it witnessed. Then once more the tense silence came over the room and Wiley rose to go.

"Well," he said, "I've been waiting for ten years just to get these papers in my hands. And now, you danged crook, just to hit you where you live, I'm going to make a fortune."

"A fortune!" echoed Blount, and then he clasped his hands and sank down weakly in a chair. "I knew it!" he moaned, "I knew it all the time—you've been trying to get that mine for months. But what is it, Wiley? Have you located the lost vein? Oh, I knew it; all the time!"

"Yes, you did," jeered Wiley, "you didn't know anything, except how to grab hold of the stock. What good was it to you after you'd got the old mine—you didn't know what to do with it! All you knew was how to rob the widow and the orphan and deprive better men of their good name. You wait till I tell my Old Man about this—and how you were selling him out, all the time. If it wasn't for you he'd never been called Honest John by a bunch of these tin-horns and crooks. But I'll show you who's honest—I'm going to skin you alive for what you did to my father. You wait till I make my clean-up!"

"But what is it, Wiley?" cried Blount, despairingly. "Have you really discovered the lost vein?"

"No," grinned Wiley, "but I've consulted an expert and he tells me the mine is worth millions!"

"What—millions?" burst out Blount, struggling up to his feet. "Now here, Wiley Holman; I want that option back! You secured it by fraud and misrepresentation and by concealment of the actual facts. I'll have the law on you—I'll break the contract—you came here with intent to defraud!"

"Don't you think it!" returned Wiley, thrusting out his lip. "You thought you were trimming me, like taking candy from a baby. Why didn't you get an expert? I offered to hire out to you, myself!"

"Oh—hell!" choked Blount. "Well, tell me the worst—where was it he told you to dig?"

"Why right down the shaft," answered Wiley blandly. "He's a new kind of mining expert and he locates the gold by electricity."

"By electricity!" exclaimed Blount, and as he perceived Wiley's smile he straightened up in a rage. "I don't believe a word of it. Who is this man, anyway? I never heard of such a thing before!"

"Oh, yes!" said Wiley, as he stepped out the door, "you know the professor well. They call him Death Valley Charley."



CHAPTER XIII

A SACK OF CATS

The weary work of packing had gone on endlessly in the bare rooms of the old Huff house and now Virginia, with two kittens in her arms and the mother cat following behind, was passing it all in review. A solid row of packing boxes, arrayed on the front gallery, awaited the motor truck; and here and there in corners lay piles of discarded treasures that were destined to go to Charley for loot. He was hanging about, with his pistol well in front, on the watch for Stiff Neck George; but up to that moment the Widow had not said the word that would start the mad rush for plunder. Her trunks were all packed, the china nested in barrels and the bedding sewed up in burlap; but still from day to day she put off the evil moment, and Virginia did not try to hurry her. The house had been their home for ten years and more and, though Los Angeles would be fine with its palm trees and bungalows, it was a strange land, far away. And what would they do in that city of strange faces and hustling, eager real-estate agents? It was that which held the Widow back.

In the city there would be rent and water to pay for, and electric lights and wood; but in desolate Keno rent and water and wood were free, and the electric light company had taken down its poles. If the town were not so dead—if they could only make a living,—the Widow started up for the thousandth time, for she heard a racing auto down the street. It was Wiley Holman, as sure as shooting, and—well, Wiley was not so bad. It was his money, really, that had enabled them to pack up, and would enable them to go, when they started; and the Widow knew, as well as she knew anything, that he had designs upon the mine. He was after the Paymaster, and if he ever got hold of it—well, Keno would come back to its own. She rushed to the door and looked out into the street; and when she met Virginia, running away from meeting Wiley, she caught her and whirled her about.

"Now you go back there," she hissed in her ear, "and I want you to be nice to him—he may have come back about the mine."

Virginia went out the door and, as Wiley Holman saw her standing there, he leapt out and came up the steps.

"Well, well," he said, "just in time to say good-by. And I wanted to see you, too." He smiled down at her boyishly and Virginia's eyes turned gentle as he took both her hands in his. "I've got some news to tell you," he burst out eagerly; "not news that will buy you anything but something to remember when you're gone."

He led her to a box and, taking one of the kittens, sat down with his back to the door. Then he rose up hastily at a sudden rustle from behind and glanced inquiringly at Virginia.

"It's just mother," she said and at the mention of her name Mrs. Huff came boldly out.

"Why, good morning, Wiley," she said, smiling over-sweetly. "Seems to me you're awful early."

"Yes," answered Wiley, trying vainly to seem polite, "I just stopped off to say good-by!"

He offered her his hand, but the Widow ignored the hint and took the conversation to herself.

"Well, I'm real glad you came," she went on sociably, "because I wanted to see you on a matter of business. In fact, I've been kind of waiting, on the chance that you might come through. Oh, I know that I don't count, but you can see Virginia afterwards; and I wanted to consult you about my stock. Yes, I know," she hastened on, as his face turned grim, "I haven't treated you fairly at all. I should have taken your offer, when you said you'd give ten cents for every share of stock that I had. But I took them to that Blount and he gave me next to nothing, and now he's holding the stock. But what I wanted to ask was: Isn't there some way we can arrange it to get it back and sell it to your father?"

"No, I don't think so," answered Wiley, putting down the kitten, "and—well, I guess I'd better go."

He rose up reluctantly, but the Widow would not hear to it and Virginia beckoned him to stay.

"Well, now listen," persisted the Widow. "That stock certainly must be worth something."

"Not to you," returned Wiley. "I saw Blount only yesterday and he says it belongs to him."

"Well, it does not!" declared the Widow, but as no one contradicted her, she took a different tack. "Are you coming back?" she asked, smiling brightly. "Are you going to open up the mine?"

Wiley's face fell for a moment.

"What gave you that idea?" he inquired bluffly, but the Widow pointed a finger and laughed roguishly.

"I knew it," she cried. "I've known it for months—and I wish you the best of good luck."

"Oh, you do, eh?" grunted Wiley, and stood undecided as Mrs. Huff continued her assurances. He had come there to see Virginia, but business was business and the Widow seemed almost reasonable. "Huh, that's funny," he said at last. "I thought you had it in for me. What's the chance for getting a quit-claim?"

"A quit-claim!" echoed the Widow, suddenly pricking up her ears. "Why, what do you want that for, now?"

"Well, you're going away," explained Wiley quietly, "and it might come in handy, later, if I should want to take over the mine. Of course you've got no title—and no stock, for that matter—but I'll give you a hundred dollars, all the same."

"I'll take it!" snapped the Widow and Wiley broke out laughing as he reached for his fountain pen.

"Zingo!" he grinned and then he bit his lip, for the Widow was quick to take offence. "Of course," he went on, "this doesn't affect your stock if you should ever get it back from Blount. That is still your property, according to law, and this quit-claim just guarantees me free entry and possession. We'll get Virginia to witness the agreement."

"All right," bridled the Widow and watched him cynically as he wrote out the quit-claim and check. "Oh! Actually!" she mocked as he put the check in her hands. "I just wanted to see if you were bluffing."

"Well, you know now," he answered and sat in stony silence until she departed with a triumphant smirk. Then he glanced at Virginia and motioned towards the street, but she sighed and shook her head.

"No," she said, "I can't leave the house—mother is likely to start any time, now."

"I suppose you'll be glad to go," he suggested at last as she sat down and gathered up the kittens. "The old town is sure awful dead."

"Yes—I guess so," she agreed half-heartedly. "You'd think so, but we don't seem to go."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he inquired after a silence. "You know what I told you once, Virginia."

"Yes, I know," she answered bitterly, "but—Oh, I'm ashamed to let you help me, after the way I acted up about Charley."

"Well, forget it," he said at length. "I guess I get kind of ugly when anyone doubts my good faith. It's on account of my father, and calling him Honest John—but say, I forgot to tell the news!"

Virginia looked up inquiringly and he beckoned her into the corner where no one could overhear his words.

"Blount sent for me yesterday—trying to sell me the mine," he whispered in her ear, "and I made him show me his stock. And when I looked on the back of his promotion certificates—the ones he got for promoting the mine—I found by the endorsements that he'd sold every one of them before or during the panic. Do you see? They were street certificates, passing from hand to hand without going to the company for transfer, but every broker that handled them had written down his name as a memorandum of the date and sale. Don't you see what he did—he set your father against my father, and my father against yours, and all the time, like the crook he is, he was selling them both out for a profit. I could have killed him, the old dog, only I thought it would hurt him more to whipsaw him out of his mine; but listen now, Virginia, don't you think we can be friends—because my father never robbed anybody of a cent! He thought more of the Colonel than he did of me; and I've started out, even if it is a little late, to prove that he was on the square."

He stopped abruptly, for in his rush of words he had failed to note the anger in her eyes, until now she turned and faced him.

"Oho!" she said, "so that's your idea—you're going to whipsaw Blount out of his mine?"

"If I can!" hedged Wiley. "But for the Lord's sake, Virginia, don't tell what I said to your mother! It won't make any difference, because she's given me a quit-claim—but what's the use of having any trouble?"

"Yes, sure enough!" murmured Virginia, with cutting sarcasm. "She might even demand her rights!"

"Well, maybe you like to fight!" burst out Wiley angrily, "and if you do, all right—hop to it! But I'll tell you one thing; if you can't be reasonable, I can be just as bullheaded as anybody!"

"Yes, you can," she agreed and then she sighed wearily, and waved it all away with one hand. "Well, all right," she said, "I'm so sick and tired of it that I certainly don't want any more. And since I've taken your money, as you know very well, I'm going to go away and give you peace."

Her eyes blinked fast, to hold back the tears, and once more the son of Honest John weakened.

"No, I don't want you to go away," he answered gently, "but—isn't there something I can do before you go? I have to fight my way, you know that yourself, Virginia; but don't let that keep us from being friends. I'm a mining engineer, and I can't tell you all my plans, because that sure would put me out of business; but why can't you trust me, and then I'll trust you and—what is it you've got on your mind?"

He reached for her hand but she drew it away and sat quiet, looking up the street.

"You wouldn't understand," she said with a sigh. "You're always thinking about money and mines. But a woman is different—I suppose you'll laugh at me, but I'm worried about my cats."

"About your cats!" he echoed, and she smiled up at him wistfully and then looked down at the kittens in her lap.

"Yes," she said, "you know they were left to me when the people moved out of town, and now I've got eight of them and I just know that old Charley——"

"He'll starve 'em to death," broke in Wiley, instantly. "I know the old tarrier well. You give 'em to me, Virginia, and I swear I'll take care of 'em just the same as I would of—you."

"Oh," smiled Virginia, and then she gave him her hand and the old hatred died out in her eyes. "That's good of you, Wiley, and I certainly appreciate it; because no one would trust them with Charley. I'm going to take the two kittens, but you can have the rest of them and—you can write to me about them, sometimes."

"Every week," answered Wiley. "I'll take 'em back to the ranch and the girls will look after them when I'm gone. We'll have to put them in sacks, but that will be better——"

"Yes, that's better than starving," assented Virginia absently, and Wiley rose suddenly to go. There was something indefinable that stood between them, and no effort of his could break it down. He shook hands perfunctorily and started down the gallery and then abruptly he turned and swung back.

"Here," he said, throwing her stock down before her, "I told you to hold onto that, once."



CHAPTER XIV

THE EXPLOSION

There are moments when his great secret rises to every man's lips and flutters to wing away; but a thought, a glance, a word said or unsaid, turns it back and he holds it more closely. Wiley Holman had a secret which might have changed Virginia's life and filled every day with joy and hope, but he shut down his lips and held it back and spoke kind words instead. There was a look in her eyes, a brooding glow of resentment when he spoke of his father and hers; and, while he spoke from the heart, she drooped her dark lashes and was silent beyond her wont. He gave her much but she gave him little—and the reason she was sorry to leave Keno was the parting with six suffering cats.

There were girls that he knew who would have gone the limit and said something about missing Wiley Holman. So he gave her back her stock and put the cats in sacks and burnt up the road to the ranch. The next day the news came that he had bonded the Paymaster, but Wiley was far away. He caught the Limited and went speeding east, and then he came back, headed west; and finally he left Vegas followed by four lumbering auto trucks loaded down with freight and men. The time had come when he must put his fortunes to the test and Keno awaited him, anxiously.

A cold, dusty wind raved down through the pass, driving even old Charley to shelter; but as the procession moved in across the desert the city of lost hopes came to life. Old grudges were forgotten, the dead past was thrust aside, and they lined up to bid him welcome—Death Valley Charley and Heine, Mrs. Huff and Virginia, and the last of ten thousand brave men. For nine years they had lived on, firm in their faith in the mighty Paymaster; and now again, for the hundredth time, the old hope rose up in their breasts. The town was theirs, they had seen it grow from nothing to a city of brick and stone, and they loved its ruins still. All it needed was some industry to put blood into its veins and it would thrill with energy and life. Even the Widow forgot her envy and her anger at his deception and greeted Wiley Holman with a smile.

"Well—hello!" he hailed when he saw her in the crowd. "I thought you were going away."

"Not much!" she returned. "Bring your men in to dinner. I'm having my dishes unpacked!"

"Umm—good!" responded Wiley and, shrugging his shoulders, he led the way on to the mine. There were other faces that he would as soon have seen as the Widow's fighting mien, and he had brought his own cook along; but Mrs. Huff was a lady and as such it was her privilege to claim her woman's place in the kitchen. The town was part hers and the restaurant was her livelihood; and then, of course, there was Virginia. Having bidden her good-by, and taken care of her cats, he had reconciled himself to her loss, but not even the smile in her welcoming dark eyes could make him quite forget the Widow. She was an uncertain quantity, like a stick of frozen dynamite that will explode if it is thawed too soon; and there was a bombshell to come which gave more than even promise of producing spontaneous combustion. So Wiley sighed as he fired his cook, and told his men that they would board with the Widow.

The first dinner was not so much, consisting largely of ham and eggs with the chickens out on a strike; but there was plenty of canned stuff and the Widow promised wonders when she got all her boxes unpacked. Yet with all her work before her and the dishes unwashed, she followed the crowd to the mine. That was the day of days, from which Keno would date time if Wiley made his promise good; and every man in town, and woman and child, went over to watch them begin. Up the old, abandoned road the auto trucks crept and crawled, and the shed and the houses that had been prepared by Blount now gave shelter to his hated successor. Only one man was absent and he sat on the hill-top, looking down like a lonely coyote. It was Stiff Neck George, that specter at the feast, the harbinger of evil to come; but as Wiley ordered the empty trucks to back up against the dump he glanced at the hill-top and smiled.

"We'll take back a load of tungsten," he announced to the drivers and the crowd of onlookers stared.

"Just load on that white stuff," he explained to the muckers and there was a general rush for the dump.

"What did you say that stuff was?" inquired Death Valley Charley, after a hasty look at his specimen; and Keno awaited the answer, breathless.

"Why, that's scheelite, Charley," replied Wiley confidentially, "and it runs about sixty per cent tungsten. It comes in pretty handy to harden those big guns that you hear shooting over in France."

"Oh, tungsten," muttered Charley, blinking wisely at the rock while everyone else grabbed a sample. "Er—what do you say they use it for?"

"Why, to harden high-speed steel for guns and turning-tools—haven't you read all about it in the papers?"

"How much did you say it was worth?" asked the Widow cautiously, and Wiley knew that the bombshell was ignited.

"Well, that's a question," he began, "that I can answer better when I get a report on this ore. It's all mixed up with quartz and ought to be milled, by rights, before I even ship it; but since the trucks are going back—well, if it turns out the way I calculate it might bring me forty dollars a unit."

"A unit!" repeated the Widow, her voice low and measured. "Well, I'd just like to know how much a unit is?"

"A hundredth of the standard of measure—in this case a ton of ore. That would come to twenty pounds."

"Twenty pounds! What, of this stuff? And worth forty dollars! Well, somebody must be crazy!"

"Yes, they're crazy for it," answered Wiley, "but it's just a temporary rage, brought on by the European war. The market is likely to break any time."

"Why—tungsten!" murmured the Widow. "Who ever heard of such a thing? And it's been lying here idle all the time."

"How much would that be a ton?" piped up someone in the crowd, and Mrs. Huff put her head to one side.

"Let's see," she said, "forty dollars a unit—that's one hundredth of a ton. Oh, pshaw, it can't be that. Let's see, twenty pounds at forty dollars—that's two dollars a pound; and two thousand pounds, that's—oh, I don't believe it! I never even heard of tungsten!"

"No, it's a new metal," replied Wiley ever so softly, "or rather, it's an acid. The technical magazines are full of articles that tell you all about it. It's found in wolframite, and hubnerite and so on; but this is calcium tungstate, where it is found in connection with lime. The others are combined variously with iron or manganese——"

"Yes, manganese," broke in Charley importantly. "I know that well—and wolfite and all the rest. It certainly is wonderful how they build them big cannons that will shoot for twenty-two miles. But it's tungsden that does it, tungsden in connection with electricity and the invisible rays of raddium."

"Oh, shut up!" burst out the Widow, thrusting him rudely aside and seizing a fresh handful of the rock. "I just can't hardly believe it." She gazed at the glossy fragments and then at the muckers, industriously loading the trucks; and then she cocked her head on one side.

"Let's see—two times twenty—that's forty dollars a ton. No—four hundred! Why, no—four thousand!" She stopped short and made a hurried re-calculation, while a murmur ran through the crowd, and then Death Valley Charley gave a whoop.

"Four thousand!" he shouted. "I told ye! I knowed it! I claimed she was rich, all the time!"

"You did not!" snapped the Widow, putting her hand under his jaw and forcibly stifling his whoops. "You poor, crazy fool, you knew nothing of the kind—you sold out for five thousand dollars!" She pushed him away with a swift, disdainful shove that sent him reeling through the crowd and then she whirled on Wiley. "And I suppose," she accused, "that you knew all the time that this dump here was nothing but tungsten?"

"Well, I had a good idea," he admitted deprecatingly, "although it's yet to be tested out. This is just a sample shipment——"

"Yes, a sample shipment; and at two dollars a pound how much will it bring you in? Why, nothing, hardly; a mere bagatelle for a gentleman and a scholar like you; but what about me and poor Virginia, slaving around to cook your meals? What do we get for all our pains? Oh, I could kill you, you scoundrel! You knew it all the time, and yet you let me sell those shares!"

She choked and Wiley shifted uneasily on the ore-pile, for of course he had done just that. To be sure he had urged her to sell them to his father for the sum of ten cents a share; but the mention of that fact, in her heated condition, would probably gain him nothing with the Widow. She was gasping for breath and, if nothing intervened, he was in for the scolding of his life. But it was all in the day's work and he glanced about for Virginia, to seek comfort from her smiling eyes. She would understand now why he had given her back her stock, and advised her from the start not to sell; but—he looked again, for her dark orbs were blazing and her lips were moving as with threats.

"You knew it all the time!" screamed the Widow in a frenzy, but Wiley barely heard her. He heard her words, for they assaulted his ears in a series of screeching crescendos, but it was the unspoken message from the lips of Virginia that cut him to the quick. He had expected nothing else from the abusive Widow; but certainly, after all the kindnesses he had done her, he was entitled to something better from Virginia. Not only had he warned her to hold on to her stock, at a time when one word might ruin him; but he had bought it from Charley and then given it back, to show how he valued her friendship. And yet now, while the others were shouting with joy or rushing to stake out more claims, she stood by the Widow and with cruel, voiceless words added her burden to this paean of hate. And she looked just like her mother!

"You shut up, you old cat!" he burst out fiercely, as the Widow rushed in to assault him. "Shut your mouth and get off my ground!" He drew back his palm to launch a swift blow and then his hand fell slack. "Well, holler then," he said, "what do I give a dam' whether you like the deal or not? You'd be yammering, just the same. But it's lucky for you you're a woman."



CHAPTER XV

THE GOD OF TEN PER CENT

It was the nature of the Widow to resort to violence in every crisis of her life and at each fresh memory of the effrontery of Wiley Holman she searched the empyrean for words. From the very start he had come to Keno with the intention of stealing her mine. First it was his father, who pitied her so much he was willing to buy her shares; then it was the tax sale, and he had sneaked in at night and tried to jump the Paymaster; then he had deceived her and stood in with Blount to make her sell all her stock for a song; and then, oh hateful thought, he had actually sold out to Blount for a hundred dollars, cash; only to put Blount in the hole and buy the mine back again for the price of the ore on the dump!

The Widow poured forth her charges without pausing for breath or noticing that her audience had fled, and as Wiley went on about his business she raised her voice to a scream. The rest of the Kenoites, and some of the workmen, were out staking the nearby hills; but whenever she stopped she thought of some fresh duplicity which made reason totter on its throne. He had refused half the mine from Blount as a gift and then turned around and bought it all. He had refused to buy her shares, time and again, when he knew they were worth a million; and then, to cap the climax, he had let her sell to Blount and bought them for nothing from him. And even Death Valley Charley—poor, crazy, brain-sick Charley—he had robbed him of all ten of his claims!

It was a damning arraignment, and Wiley's men listened grimly, but he only twisted his lip and nodded his head ironically. With one eye on his accuser, who was becoming hysterical, he hustled the ore into the empty trucks and started them off down the road; and then, as Virginia led her mother away, he re-engaged his cook. They had supper that night in the old, abandoned cook-house; and, so wonderfully do great minds work, that a complete bill of grub was discovered among the freight. Not only flour and beans and canned goods and potatoes, but baking powder and matches and salt; and the cook observed privately that you'd think Mr. Holman had intended to make camp all the time. It is thus that foresight leaps ahead into the future and robs life of half its ills; and the Widow Huff, still unpacking plates and saucers, was untroubled by clamorous guests. She had had her say and, as far as Wiley was concerned, there were no more favors to be expected.

Yet the Widow was wise in the ways of mining camps and she prepared to feed a horde—and the next day they came, by automobile and motor-truck, until every table was filled. The rush was on, for four-thousand dollar ore will bring men from the ends of the world. Before the sun had set in the red glow of a sandstorm the desert was staked for miles. From the chimneys of old houses, long abandoned to the rats, rose the smokes of many fires and the rush and whine of passing automobiles told of races to distant grounds. All the old mines in the district, and of neighboring districts where the precious "heavy spar" occurred, were re-located—or jumped, as the case might be—and held to await future developments. The first thing was to stake. They could prospect the ground later. Tungsten now was king. Men who had never heard the name, or pronounced it haltingly, now spoke learnedly of tungsten tests; and he was a poor prospector indeed who lacked his bottle of hydrochloric acid and his test-tubes and strip of shiny tin. They swarmed about the base of the old Paymaster dump like bees around a broken pot of honey and when, pounded up and boiled in the hydrochloric acid, the solution bit the tin and turned bright blue, there was many a hearty curse at the fickle hand of fortune which had led Wiley Holman to that treasure.

It had lain there for years, trampled down beneath their feet. Now this kid, this mining-school prospector, had come back and grabbed it all. Not only the Paymaster with its tons of mined ore, but the ten claims to the north, all showing good scheelite, which Death Valley Charley had located—he had held them down as well. Two hundred dollars down and a carefully worded option had tied them up for five thousand dollars, and there were tungsten-mad men in that crowd of boomers who would have given fifty thousand apiece. They came up to the mine where Wiley was working and waved their money in his face, and then went off grumbling as he refused all offers and went busily about his work. So they came, and went, until at last the great wave brought Samuel J. Blount himself.

He came up the trail smiling, for there was nothing to be gained by making belated complaints; but when he saw the pile of precious white rock the smile died away in spite of him. It was the boast of Blount that, buying or selling, he always held out his ten per cent; but that pile of ore had cost him dear and he had sold it out for next to nothing. And it was his other boast that he could read men's hearts when they came to buy or sell, but here was a young man who had seen him coming twice and gained the advantage both times. So the smile grew longer in spite of his best efforts and when at last he found Wiley Holman in the office of the company it was perilously near a sulk.

"Well, good morning, Wiley," he began with unction, and then he looked grievously about. The expensive gas engine which he had bought and installed was already unwatering the mine; spare timbers were going down, the new blacksmith-shop was running and Wiley was sitting at his desk. Everything was there, just the way he had left it, except that it belonged to Wiley. Blount heaved a heavy sigh and then set his features resolutely, for the battle was not over yet. To be sure the mine was bonded for a measly fifty thousand dollars, and his stock was tied up under an option; but many things can happen in six months' time and Wiley was only a boy. Granted that he was a miner and understood ore, there is such a thing as an "Act of God." Cables break without reason, mines cave and timbers fall; and certainly if there is a God of Ten Per Cent his just wrath would be visited upon Wiley. Blount knew that great god and worshipped him continually and he felt certain that something would happen, for when boys out of college take money away from bank presidents it comes dangerously close to sacrilege.

"Well, well," murmured Blount, "quite a change, quite a change. Are you sure that stuff is tungsten, Wiley?"

"Yes," responded Wiley, affecting a becoming modesty to cover up his youthful smirk. "Would you like to see it tested?"

"Very much," answered Blount, and followed after him to the assay office, which Wiley had hurriedly fitted up. Wiley took a piece of scheelite and pounded it in a mortar until it was fine as flour, then dropped it into a test-tube and boiled it over a flame in a solution of hydrochloric and nitric acids.

"Now," he said, when the tungstic acid had been dissolved, and he had dropped a small bar of tin into the solution. It turned a dark blue and Blount sighed again, for he had looked up the test in advance. "If it turns blue," a prospector had told him, "like the color of me overalls, then, sure as hell, it's tungsten."

"Well, well," commented Blount, gazing mildly about, for great men do not stop to repine, "and what do you use these big scales for?"

"That's for the quantitative test," explained Wiley importantly. "By weighing the sample first and extracting the tungsten we get the percentage, when it's been filtered and dried and weighed again, of the tungstic acid in the ore. But it's quite an elaborate process."

"Yes, yes," assented Blount, still managing to smile pleasantly. "Rather out of my line, I guess. What per cent do your samples average?"

"Oh, between sixty and seventy when I pick my specimens. I'm rigging up a jigger to separate the ore until I can get capital to start up the mill. It ought to be milled, by rights, and only the concentrates shipped; but while I'm getting started——"

"Oh, draw on me—any time," broke in Blount, smiling radiantly. "I'd be only too glad to accommodate you. That's my business, you know; loaning out money on good security, and you're good up to fifty thousand dollars."

"Do you mean it?" demanded Wiley after a startled silence, and Blount slapped him heartily on the back.

"Just try me," he said. "I've been looking up the market and tungsten is simply booming. It's quoted at forty-five for sixty per cent concentrates, and you must have tons and tons on the dump."

"Yes, lots of it," admitted Wiley, "and say, now that you mention it, I believe I'll take you up. I need a little money to install some machinery and get the old mill to running. How about ten thousand dollars?"

"Why—all right," assented Blount, after a moment's thought. "Of course you'll give some security?"

"Oh, sure," agreed Wiley. "My option on the mine—I suppose that's what you're after?"

Blount blinked for a moment, for such plain speaking was surprising from one as shrewd as Wiley, but he summoned up his smile and nodded. "Why—why, yes, that's all right. Say one per cent a month—payable monthly—those are our ordinary short-time terms."

"Suits me," said Wiley. "But no cut-throat clauses—none of this Widow Huff line of stuff. If I forget to pay my interest that doesn't make the principal due and the security forfeit and so on, world without end."

"Oh, no; no, certainly," cried Blount with alacrity. "We'll make it a flat loan, if you like, and endeavor to treat you right. Of course you'll start a checking account and——"

"No," said Wiley, "if I borrow the money I'll take it out of your bank and put it in another, right away. I never let friendship interfere with business or warp my business judgment."

"Yes, but Wiley," protested Blount, "what difference does it make? Isn't my bank perfectly safe and sound?"

"Undoubtedly," returned Wiley, "but—do you happen to remember a little check for four hundred dollars? It was made out by me in favor of Death Valley Charley and they cashed it through your bank—Virginia Huff, you know—in payment for Paymaster stock. Well, if you're going to keep track of my business like that——"

"Oh, no, no," exclaimed Blount, suddenly remembering the means by which he had detected Wiley's purchase of Virginia's stock, "you misunderstand me, entirely. If you want to wait a few days for the money you are welcome to put it anywhere."

"Well, hold on," began Wiley. "Now maybe I'd better go to the other bank——"

"Oh, no, no, no," protested Blount, "I wouldn't hear of it. I'll write you the check, this minute. On your personal note—that's good enough for me. You can put up the collateral later."

"Well, let's think this over," objected Wiley cannily. "I don't like to put up that option for security. That bond and lease is worth half a million dollars and——"

"Just give me your note," broke in Blount hurriedly, "and hurry up—here comes Mrs. Huff."

"All right," cried Wiley, and scribbled out the note while Blount was writing the check.



CHAPTER XVI

A SHOW-DOWN WITH THE WIDOW

If the benevolent Samuel Blount could have seen Wiley Holman's monthly statement from that mysterious "other bank" he would have crushed him with one blow of his ready, financial club and gone off with both bond-and-lease and option. But the pure, serene fire in those first water diamonds which graced the ring on Wiley's hand—that dazzled Samuel J. Blount as it had dazzled the Widow and many a store-keeper in Vegas. For it is hardly to be expected that a man with such a ring will have a bank account limited to three figures, any more than it is expected that a man with so little capital will be sitting in a game with millionaires. But Wiley was sitting in, holding his cards well against his chest, and already he had won ten thousand dollars. Which is one of the reasons why all mining promoters wear diamonds—and poker faces as well.

Yet Blount was playing a game which had once won him a million dollars from just such plungers as Wiley, and if he also smiled as he tucked away the note it was not without excuse. There had been a time when this boy's father had sat in the game with Blount and now he was engaged in raising cattle on a ranch far back in the hills. And Colonel Huff, that prince of royal plungers, had surrendered at last to the bank. It was twelve per cent, compounded monthly, with demand, protest and notice waived, which had brought about this miracle of wealth; and since it is well known that history repeats itself, Mr. Blount could see Wiley's finish. The thing to do first was to regain his confidence and get him into his power and then, at the first sign of financial embarrassment, to call his notes and freeze him out. Such were the intentions of the benevolent Mr. Blount—if the Widow Huff did not kill him.