not for months to come.
Every dollar that was spent there had to come in from the outside, and
the men who held the claims were all poor. Even after driving off the
jumpers and regaining their lost claims the majority had gone home after
merely scratching up their old dumps in a vain pretense at doing the
assessment work.

The promoters were not buying, they were simply taking options and
waiting on Murray's tunnel; and until he drove in and actually tapped
the copper ore there would be no steady boom. He had organized a company
and was selling a world of stock, even using it to pay off his men: and
it was whispered about that his strike was a fake, for he still refused
to exhibit the drill cores. But whether his strike was a bona fide
discovery or merely a ruse to sell stock, the fact could not be blinked
that Denver and Bunker Hill had reached the end of their rope. They were
broke again and Denver set out for Globe, leaving Bunker to hold down
his claim.

CHAPTER XXII

THE ROCK-DRILLING CONTEST

The main street of Globe was swarming with men, from the court-house
square down past the viaduct to where the Bohunks dwelt. And the men
were all miners, deep-chested and square-shouldered, but white from
working underground. They were gathered in knots before the soft-drink
emporiums that before had all been saloons and as Denver rode in they
shouted a hoarse welcome and followed on to Miners' Hall. There the
Committee of Arrangements was sitting in state but when Denver strode in
a huge form bulked up before him and Slogger Meacham grinned at him
evilly. Two months before, on the Fourth of July, they had been partners
in the winning team; but now Meacham had taken on with a Cornishman from
Miami and they counted the money as good as won.

"What are you doing here?" demanded the Slogger insolently, "do you
think you're going to compete?"

"Danged right I am, if the judges will let me," answered Denver shoving
resolutely past; and at sight of their lost champion the committee
brightened up, though they glanced at each other anxiously. But what
they wanted was a contest, something that would bring out the crowd and
make the great day a success, and they waited upon Denver expectantly.

"Well, here's where you get left then," spoke up Meacham with a sneer,
"the entries were closed at noon."

"Oh, hell!" cursed Denver and was turning to go when the chairman called
him back.

"Just a minute," he said, "didn't