t fer James'
ranch before sun-up Wednesday mornin', an'--you'll sure get her. Come
on."

Scipio sprang to his feet, and a dozen hot questions leapt to his
mind. An ocean of gratitude was struggling to pour from his inadequate
tongue, but Bill would have none of it. He waved him aside and set off
for their destination, and the other could only follow. But at the
farther edge of the clearing again the gambler paused. This time a
sudden thought had changed his plans. He turned abruptly, and without
one particle of softening in his manner he ordered him back.

"Say," he cried, "ther' ain't no use fer you to get around further.
You ken jest light back to the store, an' see to them kids. Don't you
never let 'em out o' your sight till Wednesday come. Then hit out fer
James' ranch."

When Wild Bill eventually reached the claim, he found Sandy sitting on
an upturned bucket amidst the most deplorable surroundings in which a
gold prospector in quest of the precious metal could ever hope to find
himself.

The creek bank was some two hundred yards away, with a pronounced
rising ground between him and it. Behind him was a great cut-faced
rock of ironstone that certainly looked auriferous. The base of it lay
in a definite hollow, reed-grown and oozy. Beyond him, to the right,
following the river bank, the ground declined gradually towards a
black-looking, turgid and overgrown swamp. While, from the direction
in which the gambler approached, a low, dense, thorny bush grew, made
up of branches almost skeleton in their lack of leaves. It was a
forlorn and uninviting spot, calculated to dishearten anybody with a
heart less big and an enthusiasm less vital than Scipio's.

Bill stood for a moment surveying the scene before Sandy realized his
presence. And that first glance set him snorting contemptuously.

"Well, say--" he began. But words failed him, and he hurried across to
his "hired" man.

Sandy jumped up as he came near, and before the other could stop him
had poured out his opinion of things in general, and that claim in
particular, in a few well-chosen and effective words.

"Say, Zip orter sure be shot or hanged," he cried angrily, "an' this
doggone claim o' mud needs to be boosted through a dogasted volcany
an' blowed out the other side o' no sort o' place at all. Ther' sure
ain't nuthin' worse in the world than the foolishness of a tow-headed
fool."

But Bill ignored the outburst.

"How much gold you found?" he inquir