he northern slopes of Triple Butte, the
points described on the map became easily recognizable. All that
remained to do was to ride around a spur ridge and slant into the valley
that headed up between the western and central towers of the great
butte. Here the searchers came upon trees and grass and running water.
Farther up stood a small cabin, near a spring that had been blasted out
and rimmed with rock to form a convenient basin.

Lennon spurred forward beside Slade.

"Promising. What?" he remarked.

"Not what, but where?" growled the trader. "Hold on--that looks like an
old burro trail."

"Yes. Up first ravine toward left edge of middle butte, half a mile to
lode," Lennon quoted the last directions that he had read on the map.

Slade signed for the Navahos to wait at the spring. A brutal jab of the
spurs sent his horse bounding off at top speed. Lennon's pony was left
behind until the leader wheeled into the first ravine and came up
against a steep slide of loose rock. To force even the nimblest of
mounts to attempt such an ascent would have meant risking a bad fall.

As Lennon loped his pony into the ravine the trader swore blasphemously
and swung out of his saddle to scramble up the slide. Great as was his
strength, it was offset by the fact that his weight tended to bring the
loose stones sliding down at every step. Lennon was not only lighter and
more agile but had the advantage of better wind.

He was but a few steps below when Slade reached the head of the slide.
Close above them the ascent was barred by high ledges that dropped off
from the upper part of the ravine. Slade stared savagely at the dull
reddish-brown face of the ledges. The metallic surface plainly showed
the use of pick and dynamite. He uttered a furious oath as he turned
upon Lennon.

"You lying skunk!" he bellowed. "This ain't no gold mine!"

All the way up the slide Lennon had perceived the copper in the float
rock. He was prepared for the trader's outburst. Farley's revolver lay
ready in his grasp, behind the sling on his right arm.

"Have you--what do you call it?--gone loco?" he asked. "I told you
distinctly my search was for a copper mine. The gold lode was your own
fancy. You will now apologize for that term you used."

Had one of his Navahos made the demand, Slade could not have been more
amazed. He gaped, dumbfounded. Then his rage burst out again with
redoubled fury. But the sight of Lennon's revolver muzzle put an abrupt