_. He hired that bunch of
gun-men to jump my claim twice when he had no title to the mine, and
then he hired Chatwourth and Slogger Meacham to get me in the door and
kill me. They made a slight mistake and got the wrong man, then sent me
to the Pen' for murder. That's the kind of a dastard you've got for a
pardner but you can tell him I'll never give up. I'll fight till I die,
and if I ever get out----"

"Yes, there you go again," burst out Bunker Hill bitterly, "you ain't
got the brain of a mule. If I wasn't to blame for loaning you that gun
and leaving you out of my sight, I'd pass up your case for good. But I
didn't have no better sense than to slip you my old six-shooter, and now
Mrs. Hill can't hardly git over it so I'll give you another try. My
daughter, Drusilla, is coming home next week and she hasn't even heard
about this trouble. Now--are you going to stay here and meet her as a
convict, or will you come and meet her like a gentleman. This ain't my
doin's--I'd see you in hell, first--but Mrs. Hill says when you get out
on parole we'll be glad to receive you as our guest."

Denver stopped and considered, smiling and frowning by turns, but at
last he shook his head mournfully.

"No," he muttered, "what will she care for a poor ex-con? No, I'm down
and out," he went on to Bunker, "and she'll hear about it, anyhow. It's
too late now to pretend I'm a gentleman--my number has burned in like a
brand. All these other prisoners know me and they'll turn me up
anywhere; if I go to the China Coast one of 'em would show up, sooner or
later, and bawl me out for a convict. No, I'm ruined as a gentleman, and
old Murray did it; but by God, if I live, I'll teach him to regret
it--and he won't make a dollar out of me. That claim is tied up till
John D. Rockefeller himself couldn't get it away from me now; and it'll
lay right there until I serve out my sentence or get a free pardon from
the Governor. I won't agree to anything and----"

He stopped abruptly and looked away, after which he reached out his
hand.

"Well, much obliged, Bunk," he said, trying to smile, "I'm sorry I can't
accommodate you. Just thank Mrs. Hill for what she has done and--and
tell her I'll never forget it."

He went back to his work and old Bunk watched him wonderingly, after
which he rode solemnly away. Then the road-making dragged on--clearing
away brush, blasting out rock, filling in, grading up, making the
crown--but now the road-boss was absent