gone down behind the ridge. And he was tired--too tired to
eat.

There was music that night at the big house below but Denver could not
hold up his head. Nature had drugged him with sleep, like a romping
child that takes no thought of its strength, and in the morning he woke
up in a sort of stupor that could not be worked off. Yet he worked,
worked hard, for McGraw had arrived and the ore must be loaded that day;
so they threw in together, Denver sacking the heavy ore and McGraw
wheeling it out to the wagon. They toiled on till dark, for McGraw
started early and the work could not be put off till to-morrow; and when
it was over Denver staggered up to his cave like an old and outworn man.
He was reeking with sweat, his hands were like talons, the ore-dust had
left his face gray; and all he thought of was sleep. For a moment he
roused up, as if he remembered some new duty--something pleasant, yet
involving further effort--and then his candle went out. He fell asleep
in his chair and when he awoke it was only to stumble to his bed.

The sun was over the Leap when he opened his heavy eyes and gazed at the
rude squalor of his cave. The dishes were unwashed, the floor was dirty,
a long-tailed rat hung balanced on the table-edge--and he was tired,
tired, tired. He heaved himself up and reached for the water-bucket but
he had forgotten to fill it at the creek. Now he grabbed it up
impatiently and started down the trail, every joint of his body
protesting, and when he had climbed back he was weak from the
effort--his bank account with Mother Nature was overdrawn. He was worn
out, at last; and his poor, tired brain took no thought how to make up
the deficit. All he wanted was rest, something to eat, a drink of water.
A drink of water anyway, and sleep. He drank deep and bathed his face,
then sank back on the bed and let the world whirl on.

It was late in the day when he awoke again and hunger was gnawing his
vitals; but the slow stupor was gone, he was himself again and the
cramps had gone out of his limbs. He rose up luxuriously and cut a can
of tomatoes, drinking the juice and eating the fruit, and then he lit a
fire and boiled some strong coffee and cooked up a great mess of food.
There was two cans of corn and a can of corned beef, heated together in
a swimming sea of bacon grease and eaten direct from the frying-pan. It
went to the spot and his drooping shoulders straightened, the spring
came back into his step; yet as he