nounced the coach at last and then he shouted:
"Change!"

"No--_turn_!" panted Denver, never missing a stroke; and Owen sank
back to his place by the hole while the battery of blows kept on.

"Fourteen!" proclaimed the coach, "you're about an inch behind. How
about it--do you want to change?"

"No--turn!" choked Denver. "I'll finish it--_turn_!" And as Owen
straightened his back Denver struck like a mad-man while the sweat
poured down in a shower. The official umpire leapt up on the platform to
toll off the last sixty seconds, but the rise and fall of Denver's body
was faster by far than his count. A frenzy seemed to seize him as the
half minute was called and Owen slipped in their last drill; and with
hoarse, coughing grunts he smashed it deeper and deeper while the miners
surged forward with a cheer.

"Fifty-eight--fifty-nine--_sixty_!" cried the umpire, slapping him
sharply on the back to stop, and Denver fell like dead across the stone.
His great strength had left him, completely, on the instant; and when he
raised his head there was a grinning crowd around him as his coach was
measuring the last drill.

"The poor, dom fool!" he exclaimed commiseratingly, "and to think of him
wurruking like thot. He's ahead by two inches and more."

CHAPTER XXIII

THE HEART OF HIS BELOVED

There was a celebration that day which warmed Denver's heart and sent
Slogger Meacham cursing out of the camp, but as soon as it was over and
he had his prize money in his hand Denver remembered his unguarded
claim. Bunker Hill was there, of course, but the spiteful Professor had
heralded his pledge afar; and a man who has promised his wife not to
fight is ill-fitted to herd a mine. No, the Silver Treasure lay open for
Dave or Murray to jump, if they felt like contesting his claim; and,
weak as he was, Denver took no rest until he was back where he could
fight for his own. He rode in late and slept like the dead, but in the
morning he was up and down at the store as soon as Old Bunk came out.

"I win!" he announced holding up the roll of bills, "first money--can
you get me some powder?"

"W'y, you lucky fool!" exclaimed Bunker admiringly, "seems like
_nothing_ can keep you down. Sure I'll get your powder, and just to
show you what _I_ can do--how's that for a healthy little roll?" He
drew out a roll of bills twice the size of Denver's and fingered them
over lovingly. "A thousand dollars," he murmured, "for an option on half
th