e had met his advances despitefully, and practically
called him a coward. Denver brushed off the dust from his shiny
phonograph and put on the "Anvil Chorus."

The next morning, early, he was up at his mine, with Chatwourth's gun
slung low on his leg; and while he remained there, to defend it against
all comers, he held an impromptu reception. There was a rush of miners,
to look at the mine and inspect the specimens of copper; and then
shoestring promoters began to arrive, with proposals to stock the
property. The Professor came up, his eyes staring and resentful; and old
Bunker, overflowing with good humor; and at last, when nobody else was
there, Drusilla walked by on the trail. She glanced up at him hopefully;
then, finding no response, she heaved a great sigh and turned up his
path to have it over and done with.

"Well," she said, "I suppose you despise me, but I'm sorry--that's all I
can say. And now that I know all about your horoscope I don't blame you
for treating me so rudely. That is, I don't blame you so much. But don't
you think, Denver, when you went away and left me, you might have
written back? We'd always been such friends."

She checked herself at the word, then smiled a sad smile and waited to
hear what he would say. And Denver, in turn, checked what was on his
lips and responded with a solemn nod. It had come to him suddenly to
rise up and clasp her hands and whisper that he'd take a chance on it,
yet--that is, if they could still be friends--but the significance of
the prophecy had been proved only yesterday, and miracles can happen
both ways. The same fate, the same destiny, which had fended off the
bullet when Chatwourth had aimed at his heart, might turn the merest
accident to the opposite purpose and make Drusilla his unwilling slayer.

"Yes," he said, apropos of nothing, "you see now how I'm fixed. Don't
dare to have any friends."

"No, but Denver," she pouted, "you might say you were sorry--that's
different from being friends. But after we'd been so--oh, do you believe
all that? Do you believe you'll be killed by your dearest friend, and
that nobody else can harm you? Because that, you know, is just
superstition; it's just like the ancient Greeks when they consulted the
oracle, and the Indians, and Italians and such people. But educated
people----"

"What's the matter with the Greeks?" spoke up Denver contentiously. "Do
you mean to say they were ignorant? Well, I talked with an old-timer-