t deter Denver from opposing him and he went out to hunt up Owen.

Tom Owen was a good man, and he was also a good driller, but there was
one thing that Denver held against him--he had been a drinking man when
Arizona was wet. And a man who has drunk, no matter when, is never quite
the same in a contest. He has lost that narrow margin of vital force,
those last few ounces of strength and stamina which win or lose at the
finish. Yet even at that he was a better man than Meacham, who had laid
down like a yellow dog. Denver remembered that too and when he found his
man he told him they were due to win. Then he borrowed some drills and a
pair of eight-pound hammers and they went through a try-out together.
Owen was quick and strong, he made the changes like lightning and struck
a heavy blow; but when it was over and he was rolling a cigarette Denver
noticed that his hand was trembling. The strain of smashing blows had
over-taxed his nerves, though they had worked but three or four minutes.

"Well, do the best you can," said Denver at last, "and for cripes sake,
keep away from this boot-leg."

There was plenty of it in town on this festive occasion, a
nerve-shattering mixture that came in from New Mexico and had a kick
like a mule. It was circulating about in hip pockets and suit-cases and
in automobiles with false-bottomed seats, and Denver knew too well from
past experience what the temptation was likely to be; yet for all his
admonitions when he met Owen in the morning he caught the bouquet of
whisky. It was disguised with sen-sen and he pretended not to notice it
but his hopes of first money began to wane. They went out again to the
backyard of an old saloon where a great block of granite was embedded
and while their admirers looked on they practiced their turn, for they
had never worked together. A Cornish miner, a champion in his day,
volunteered to be their coach and at each call of: "Change!" they
shifted from drill to hammer without breaking the rhythm of their
stroke.

"You'll win, lads," said the Cornishman, patting them affectionately on
the back and Denver led them off for their rub-down.

The band began to play in the street below and the Miners' Union marched
past, after which they banked in about a huge block of granite and the
drilling contests began. The drilling rock was placed on a platform of
heavy timbers at the lower side of the court-house square, and the slope
above it and the windows of all the