end to his violent curses.

"Good enough," said Lennon. "Now my apology, if you please."

The cool politeness of the request emphasized its deadly earnestness.
Lennon was keen for an excuse to shoot the big scoundrel. The look in
his eye was unmistakable.

"All right," grunted Slade. "Have it your own way. I back up."

"You apologize?"

"Sure. Even a tenderfoot is entitled to that--when he gits the drop on
you."

"Quite true," agreed Lennon, and he thrust the revolver into his pocket.
"Now, with regard to the lode, our next step will be----"

"What'd you say you was to git from your copper company?" broke in
Slade, suddenly straight-eyed and cordial.

"Twenty thousand bonus for relocating the lode, and----"

"You can draw on 'em for it?"

"For half, at least. You shall have your ten thousand as soon as you
rid the Farleys of Cochise and his gang. That was the agreement."

The trader thwacked his beefy hand down on Lennon's shoulder.

"That's a go, pard. I own up honest I figgered your talk of copper was
all bunk. But I aim to stand by my bargains. Only you're sure now this
here lode ain't no blind, are you? You ain't got that gold mine, too,
hiding out hereabouts?"

"I give you my word, Slade, this is the only mine or lode of which I
know."

Slade's look was more profane than a spoken curse.

"Huh--another El Dorado lie roped and branded. Only thing to do is to go
after that bonus of yours."

"I must take samples and measurements for my report," said Lennon. "The
company does not pay for the guesses of its engineers."

None too willingly Slade took the end of the small steel-ribbon
engineer's tape that was held out to him. Lennon measured the width of
the copper ledges, noted the trend and dip of the immense lode, and
calculated its thickness where exposed. Samples were then gathered.

Upon the return down the slide the trader suddenly paused to point at
the skull of a half-buried human skeleton.

"Huh," he grunted. "Cripple Sim didn't have no pard. But look at the
pick--another prospector. Must 'a' stumbled on the mine. Lots of good it
done him. See that hole? His pard plugged him through the head, streaked
out, got lost, died. That's how I figger it."

"Poor chap!" Lennon murmured his pity for the murdered man, and he
lingered to cover over the skeleton with a pile of loose stones.

At the spring he found the Indians cooking another round of flapjacks,
bacon, and coffee. After the meal the p