could in the
direction of the blasts.

There were no more shots, but she rode on, and presently came to what
seemed to be a new trail leading upward beside the shoulder of the round
hill aforesaid. Her pony scrambled up the rough going, walled on either
side by brush. Then she emerged upon a bench a few acres in extent,
above which the hill rose steeply. There stood a couple of tents. The
brush had been cut away, and earth and stones stripped from the mountain
side, leaving a new, raw wound. Fragments of gray country rock, split
and driven by the force which had ripped them loose, lay around. By the
face thus exposed half a dozen men were at work. Closer at hand two men
conversed. As she pulled up her pony they saw her.

For a moment they stared at her. She rode forward.

"I--I hope I'm not in the way," she began, feeling the words inadequate.
"I was down at the ranch and heard the blasts. I am Miss--I mean I am
Mrs. Mackay." She was not yet accustomed to the latter designation.

"My name is Garland," said the younger of the two. "This is Mr. Poole."

Mr. Poole murmured unintelligibly. Then both waited. A hammer man began
to strike. The measured clang punctuated the stillness.

"I thought I would ride up and see what was going on," Faith explained.

"We're doing a little development work."

"Oh," Faith said, and hesitated for an instant. "But--but this is my
land."

"Your land!" Garland and Poole were plainly surprised. They exchanged
glances. In them was quick suspicion, unspoken question, speculation.

"Where would your line run?" Garland asked.

But Faith could not tell him. Godfrey French had indicated in general
terms where her boundaries lay, but she had never followed them. She
could only repeat her conviction. Again the men exchanged glances.

"I'm afraid you'll have to see Braden about that," Garland told her.
"This is his property--or he thinks it is. We're working for him."

"But what are you working at? What are you doing?"

"We're opening up a prospect--what's going to be a mine."

"A mine! What kind of a mine?"

"A coal mine," Garland replied, "and a good one, too. I guess this
little mountain is mostly coal. We're just clearing off the face, but
you can see the seam if you like."

Coal! Faith stared at the wound in the hillside. She could see a dark
belt, the "seam" of which Garland had spoken, partially exposed. There,
overlain by soil and worthless rock, screened by tree and brush, w