pede to French Hill was on by the beginning of Christmas week.
Corliss and Bishop had been in no hurry to record for they looked the
ground over carefully before blazing their stakes, and let a few close
friends into the secret,--Harney, Welse, Trethaway, a Dutch _chechaquo_
who had forfeited both feet to the frost, a couple of the mounted
police, an old pal with whom Del had prospected through the Black Hills
Country, the washerwoman at the Forks, and last, and notably, Lucile.
Corliss was responsible for her getting in on the lay, and he drove and
marked her stakes himself, though it fell to the colonel to deliver the
invitation to her to come and be rich.

In accordance with the custom of the country, those thus benefited
offered to sign over half-interests to the two discoverers. Corliss
would not tolerate the proposition. Del was similarly minded, though
swayed by no ethical reasons. He had enough as it stood. "Got my
fruit ranch paid for, double the size I was calculatin' on," he
explained; "and if I had any more, I wouldn't know what to do with it,
sure."

After the strike, Corliss took it upon himself as a matter of course to
look about for another man; but when he brought a keen-eyed Californian
into camp, Del was duly wroth.

"Not on your life," he stormed.

"But you are rich now," Vance answered, "and have no need to work."

"Rich, hell!" the pocket-miner rejoined. "Accordin' to covenant, you
can't fire me; and I'm goin' to hold the job down as long as my sweet
will'll let me. Savve?"

On Friday morning, early, all interested parties appeared before the
Gold Commissioner to record their claims. The news went abroad
immediately. In five minutes the first stampeders were hitting the
trail. At the end of half an hour the town was afoot. To prevent
mistakes on their property,--jumping, moving of stakes, and mutilation
of notices,--Vance and Del, after promptly recording, started to
return. But with the government seal attached to their holdings, they
took it leisurely, the stampeders sliding past them in a steady stream.
Midway, Del chanced to look behind. St. Vincent was in sight, footing
it at a lively pace, the regulation stampeding pack on his shoulders.
The trail made a sharp bend at that place, and with the exception of
the three of them no one was in sight.

"Don't speak to me. Don't recognize me," Del cautioned sharply, as he
spoke, buttoning his nose-strap across his face, which serv