been pinched by the
lateral fault of the canyon and where the two joined--just across the
creek--was the discovery hole of the claim.

"Let's go over and look at it," he said and, crossing the creek on the
stones, he clambered up to the hole. It was an open cut with a short
tunnel at the end and, piled up about the location monument, were some
samples of the rock. Denver picked one up and at sight of the ore he
glanced suspiciously at Bunker.

"Where did this come from?" he asked holding up a chunk that was heavy
with silver and lead, "is this some high-grade from the famous Lost
Burro?"

"Nope," returned Bunker, "'bout the same kind of rock, though. That
comes from the tunnel in there."

"Like hell!" scoffed Denver with a swift look at the specimen, "and for
sale for five hundred dollars? Well, there's something funny here,
somewhere."

He stepped into the tunnel and there, across the face, was a four inch
vein of the ore. It lay between two walls, as a fissure vein should; but
the dip was almost horizontal, following the level of the uptilted
strata. Except for that it was as ideal a prospect as a man could ask to
see--and for sale for five hundred dollars! A single ton of the ore, if
it was as rich as it looked, ought easily to net five hundred dollars.

Denver knocked off some samples with his prospector's pick and carried
them out into the sun.

"Why don't you work this?" he asked as he caught the gleam of native
silver in the duller gray of the lead and Old Bunk hunched his
shoulders.

"Little out of my line," he suggested mildly, "I leave all that to the
Swedes. Say, did you ever hear that one about the Swede and the
Irishman--you don't happen to be Irish, do you?"

"No," answered Denver and as he waited for the story he remembered what
the Professor had told him. This long, gangly Yankee, with his drooping
red mustache and his stories for every occasion, was nothing but a
store-keeper and a cowman. He knew nothing about mining or the value of
mines but like many another old-timer simply held down his claims and
waited--and to cover up his ignorance of mining he told stories about
Irishmen and Swedes. "No," said Denver, "and you're no Swede, or you'd
drift in there and see what you've got."

"A mule can work," observed Bunker oracularly, "but here's one I heard
sprung on an Irishman. He was making a big talk about Swedes and Swede
luck, and after he'd got through a feller made the statement that the