p and senseless--the stone had struck
him in the head.

CHAPTER XX

JUMPERS AND TENORS

They led Denver away as if he were a child, for the revulsion from his
anger had left him weak; but Chatwourth, the killer, was carried back to
town with his head lolling forward like a dead man's. The smash of the
stone had caught him full on the forehead, which sloped back like the
skull of a panther; and the blood, oozing down from his lacerated scalp,
made him look more murderous than ever. But his hard, fighting jaw was
hanging slack now and his dangerous eyes were closed; and the miners,
while they carried him with a proper show of solicitude, chuckled and
muttered among themselves. In a way which was nothing short of
miraculous Denver Russell had walked in on Murray's boss jumper and
knocked him on the head with a rock--and the shot which Chatwourth had
fired in return had never so much as touched him.

They put Chatwourth in an automobile and sent him over to Murray's camp;
and then with broad smiles they gathered about Denver and took turns in
slapping him on the back. He was a wonder, a terror, a proper fighting
fool, the kind that would charge into hell itself with nothing but a
bucket of water; and would he mind, when he felt a little stronger, just
walking with them to their claims? Just a little, friendly jaunt, as one
friend with another; but if Murray's hired junipers saw him coming up
the trail that was all that would be required. They would go, and be
quick about it, for they had been watching from afar and had seen what
happened to Dave--but Denver brushed them aside and went up to his cave
where he could be by himself and think.

If he had ever doubted the virtue of Mother Trigedgo's prophecy he put
the unworthy thought behind him. He knew it now, knew it
absolutely--every word of the prophecy was true. He had staked his life
to prove the blackest line of it, and Chatwourth's bullet had been
turned aside. No, the silver treasure was his, and the golden treasure
also, and no man but his best friend could kill him; but the beautiful
artist with whom he had fallen in love--would she now confer her hand
upon another? He had come back to Pinal to set the prophecy at defiance
and ask her to be his dearest friend; but now, well, perhaps it would be
just as well to stick to the letter of his horoscope. "Beware how you
reveal your affections," it said--and he had been rushing back to tell
her! And besides, sh