landslides, had thrown the course of one of the tributaries of the
Little MacLeod from its bed into a new channel where a sudden
depression had sunk the golden vein of the lost mine.

Here, just before the winter of 1911-12 shut down, David Drennen had
found a nugget which he had concealed, saying nothing about it. The
snows came and he went back to MacLeod's Settlement to wait for the
coming of springtime and passable trails. The first man to pack out of
the Settlement prospecting, he had come to the spot which last year he
had marked under the cliffs known locally as Hell's Lace. The trail
had been rotten underfoot and he had slipped and fallen into one of the
black pools. Clambering out he had found the thing he sought; where
the trail had broken away was gold, much gold. In the bed of the
stream itself, nicely hidden for a hundred years by the cold, black
water, swept into deep pools, jammed into sunken crevices, was the old
lost gold of the Golden Girl.

The _West Canadian Mining and Milling News_ of the same date goes on to
mention that the last official act of Mr. Andrew McCall as Local Agent
for the Northwestern, had been the purchasing of his claim from David
Drennen at the latter's figure, namely one hundred thousand dollars in
cash, and an agreement of a royalty upon the mine's output.

Despite Drennen's impatience to be riding trail again it was a week
before the deal was consummated. Half a mile above his claim it was
possible for the engineers to throw the stream again into its old bed,
a score of men and three days' work accomplishing the conditions which
had obtained before the period of seismic disturbance. Then followed
days of keen expert investigation. Even when they were sure these men
who know as most men do not the value of caution when they are allowed
to take time for caution, postponed their final verdict. But at last
the thing was done and McCall, taking his train for the East, left
Lebarge with a conscious glow of satisfaction over the last work done
as superintendent of the Western Division.

Marshall Sothern, returning from the railroad station, found Drennen
waiting for him in his private office.

"Well, Mr. Drennen," he said quietly, going about the table and to his
chair, "how does it feel to be worth a cool hundred thousand?"

"It feels," cried the younger man sharply, his voice ringing with a
hint of excitement which had been oddly lacking in him throughout the
whole tr