a deep red.

"Not at all. Meanin' Barney Fallan."

Nevertheless the Babes, as the Gaynes brothers were speedily nicknamed,
paid over their good thousand for Barney's worthless prospect with the
imposing but ridiculous stamp-mill. There they set cheerfully to work.
After a week's desperate and clanking experiment they got the machinery
under way and began to run rock through the crushers.

"It ain't even ore!" expostulated California John. "Why, son, it's only
country rock. Go down on your shaft until you strike a pan test, anyway!
You're wasting time and fuel and--Oh, hell!" he broke off hopelessly at
the sight of the two cherubic faces upturned respectful but unconvinced.

"But you never can tell where you will find gold," broke in Jimmy,
eagerly. "That's been proved over and over again. I heard one fellow say
once that they thought they'd never find gold in hornblende. But they
did."

California John stumped home in indignant disgust.

"Damn little ijits!" he exploded. "Pigheaded! Stubborn as a pair of
mules!" The recollection of the scrubbed red cheeks, the clear,
puppy-dog, frank brown eyes, the close-curling brown hair, forced his
lips to a wry grin. "Just like I was at that age," he admitted. He
sighed. "Well, they'll drop their little pile, of course. The only ray
of hope's the experience that old Bible fellow had with them turkey
buzzards--or was it ravens?"

The Babes pecked away for about a month, full of tribulation and
questions. They seemed to depend almost equally on optimism and chance,
in both of which they had supreme faith. A huge horseshoe was tacked
over the door of the stamp-mill. Jimmy Gaynes always spat over his right
shoulder before doing a day's work. They never walked under the short
ladders leading to the hoppers. Neither would they permit visitors to
their shafts. To California John and his friend Tibbetts they interposed
scandalized objections.

"It's bad luck to let another man in your shaft!" cried George. "I'm no
high-brow on this mining proposition, but I know enough for that."

"Bad as playing opposite a cross-eyed man," said Jimmy.

"Or holding Jacks full on Eights," supplemented George, conclusively.

"You're about as wise as a treeful of owls," said California John,
sarcastically. "But, Lord love you, I ain't cherishin' any very burnin'
ambition to crawl down your snake hole."

The Babes used up their provisions; they went about as far as they could
on credit; they har