per! That would make the claim that Denver
had abandoned the week before worth thousands and thousands of dollars.
It would make him rich and Bunker Hill rich and--yes, it would prove the
prophecy! He had chosen the silver treasure and the gold treasure had
been added to it--for the copper ore which had come in later was almost
the color of gold. As old Bunk had said, all these prophecies were
symbolical, and he had done Mother Trigedgo an injustice. And there was
one claim that he knew of--yes, and four others, too--that Murray would
never jump. That was his own Silver Treasure and the four claims of
Bunker's that he had done the annual work on himself.

Denver's heart leapt again as he raced his horse across the flats and
led him scrambling with haste up the steep hills, and before the sun was
three hours high he had plunged into the box canyon of Queen Creek. Here
the trail wound in and out, crossing and recrossing the shrunken stream
and mounting with painful zigzags over the points; but he rioted through
it all, splashing the water out of the crossings as he hurried to claim
his own. The box canyon grew deeper, the walls more precipitous, the
creek bottom more dark and cavernous; until at last it opened out into
broad flats and boulder patches, thickly covered with alders and ash
trees. And then as he swung around the final, rocky point he saw his own
claim in the distance. It was nothing but a hole in the side of the
rocky hillside, a slide of gray waste down the slope; but to him it was
a beacon to light his home-coming, a proof that some dreams do come
true. He galloped down the trail where Drusilla and he had loitered and
let out an exultant whoop.

But as Denver came opposite his mine a sinister thing happened--a head
rose up against the black darkness of the tunnel and a man looked
stealthily out. Then he drew back his head like some snake in a hole and
Denver stopped and stared. A low wall of rocks had been built across the
cut and the man was crouching behind it--Denver jogged down and turned
up the trail. A glimpse at Pinal showed the streets full of automobiles
and a huddle of men by the store door, and as he rode up towards his
mine Bunker Hill came running out and beckoned him frantically back.

"Come back here!" he hollered and Denver turned and looked at him but
kept on up the narrow trail. The mine was his, without a doubt, both by
purchase and by assessment work done; and he had no fear of
disposs