Swedes were the greatest people in the world.

"'In the wur-rold!' yells the Irishman, like he was out of his head,
'well, how do you figure thot out?'

"'Well, I'll tell you,' says the feller, 'the Swedes invented the
wheel-barrow--and then they learned you Irish to stand on your hind legs
and run it!' Har, har, har; he had him going that time--the Mick
couldn't think what else to do so he went to heaving bricks."

"Yes--sure," nodded Denver, "that was one on the Irish. But say, have
you got a clean title to this claim? Because if you have----"

"You bet I have!" spoke up Bunker, now suddenly strictly business; but
as he waited expectantly there was a shout from the trail and Professor
Diffenderfer came rushing up.

"Oh, I heard you!" he cried shaking a trembling fist at Bunker. "I heard
vot you said about my claim! Und now, Mister Bunk, I'll have my say--no
sir, you haf no goot title. You haf not done your yearly assessment vork
on dis or any oder claims!"

"Say, who called you in on this?" inquired Bunker Hill coldly. "You
danged, bat-headed Dutchman, you keep butting in on my deals and I'll
forget and bust you on the jaw!"

His long, sharp chin was suddenly thrust out, one eye had a dangerous
droop; but the Professor returned his gaze with an insolent stare and a
triumphant toss of the head.

"Dat's all right!" he said, "you say my golt mine is a stringer--I say
your silver mine is nuttings. You haf no title, according to law, but
only by the custom of the country."

"Well, you poor, ignorant baboon," burst out Bunker in a fury, "what
better title do you want? The claim is mine, everybody knows it and
acknowledges it; and I've got your signature, sworn before a notary
public, that the annual work was done!"

"Just a form, just a form," returned the Professor with a shrug, "I do
like everyone else. But dis claim dat I haf--and my tunnel on the
hill--on dem the vork is done. And now, Mr. Russell, if you haf finished
looking here, I will take you to see my mine."

"Well, I don't know," began Denver still gazing at the silver ore, "this
looks pretty good, right here."

"But the prophecy!" exclaimed the Professor with a knowing smirk, "don't
it tell you to choose between the two? And how can you tell if you don't
even look--whether the golt or the silver is better?"

"Aw, go down and look at it!" broke in Bunker Hill angrily as Denver
scratched his head, "go and see what he calls a mine--and if you don't