Bunker Hill shortly and went on
into the store.

"Well, be sure and order that powder," shouted Denver after him. "And
say, I'll want the rest of those ore-sacks."

"All right," replied Bunker and Denver turned to the house where
Drusilla was waiting on the porch.

"Did you hear the news?" she asked dancing ecstatically to and fro; as
if she were a Delilah, leading the Philistine maidens in the "Spring
Song," and he were another Samson. "I'm expecting to go East now, soon."

"Good!" exclaimed Denver. "Well, I won't see you much then--I'm going to
work in the mine."

"Yes, isn't it grand?" she cried. "Everything is coming out fine--but
you must come down to dinner to-night. I'm going to sing, just for you."

"I'll be there," smiled Denver, and then he stopped. "But let's not make
it to-night," he said, "I'm dead on my feet for sleep."

"Well, sleep then," she laughed, "and get rested from your contest--I'm
awfully glad you won. And then----"

"Nope, can't come to-night," he answered soberly, "I want to get that
ore sacked to-day. And I'm stiff as a strip of burnt raw-hide."

"Well, to-morrow night," she said, "unless you don't want to come. But
you'll have to come soon or----"

"Oh, I want to come, all right," interposed Denver hastily, "you know
that, without telling. But my partner played out on me before the end of
the contest and I had to finish the striking myself. And then I rode
hard to get back here, before Dave or some gun-man jumped my claim."

"Then to-morrow night," she smiled, "but don't you forget, because if
you do I'll never forgive you."

She danced away into the house and Denver turned in his tracks and went
to look over his ore-sacks. They were old and torn, what was left of a
big lot that Bunker had got in a trade; but Denver picked out the best
and wheeled them up to his dump, where his picked ore lay waiting for
shipment. He had a big lot, much larger than he had thought, and it was
just as it had been shot down from the breast. Some was silver-lead; and
there was copper to boot, though that would hardly do to ship. Yet at
thirty cents a pound copper was almost a precious metal, and a report
from the smelter would be a check. He would know from that how the ore
really ran and how much he would be penalized for the zinc. So he picked
out the best of it and broke it up fine, for the rough chunks would not
do to sack; and before he had more than got started with his sampling
the sun had