"Sure you're good for it," agreed Bunker, "but that ain't the point. The question is--when will I get my money?"

"You'll get it, by grab, as soon as I do," returned Denver with considerable heat. "What's the matter? Ain't that ore s.h.i.+pment good enough security?"

"Well, maybe it is," conceded Bunker, "but you'll have a long wait for your money. And to tell you the truth, the way I'm fixed now, I can't sell except for cash."

"Oh! Cash, eh?" sneered Denver suddenly bristling with resentment. "It seems like I've heard that before. In fact, every time that I ask you for a favor you turn me down like a b.u.m. I came through here, one time, so danged weak I could hardly crawl and you refused to even give me a meal; and now, when I've got a mine that's worth millions, you've still got your hand out for the money."

"Well, now don't get excited," spoke up Bunker pacifically, "you can have what grub you want. But I'm telling you the truth--those people down below won't give me another dollar's worth on tick. These are hard times, boy, the hardest I've ever seen, and if you'd offer me that mine back for five hundred cents I couldn't raise the money. That shows how broke I am, and I've got a family to support."

"Well, that's different," said Denver. "If you're broke, that settles it. But I'll tell you one thing, old-timer, you won't be broke long. I'm going to open up a mine here that will beat the Lost Burro. I've got copper, and that beats 'em all."

"Sure does," agreed Bunker, "but it's no good for s.h.i.+pping ore. It takes millions to open up a copper property."

"Yes, and it brings back millions!" boasted Denver with a swagger. "I'm made, if I can only hold onto it. But I'll tell you right now, if you want to hold your claims you'd better do a little a.s.sessment work.

There's going to be a rush, when this strike of mine gets out, that'll make your ground worth millions."

Old Bunk smiled indulgently and took a chew of tobacco and Denver came back to earth.

"I'll tell you what I'll do," proposed Denver after a silence, "I'll take a contract to do your a.s.sessment work for ten dollars a claim, in trade. I'll make an open cut that's four by six by ten, and that's held to be legal work anywhere. Come on now, I'm tired of beans."

"Well, come down to supper," replied Bunker at last, "and we'll talk it over there."

"No, I don't want any supper," returned Denver resentfully, "you've got enough hoboes to feed. You can give me an answer, right now."

"All right--I won't do it," replied Bunker promptly and turned to go out the door; but it had opened behind them and Drusilla stood there smiling, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"What are you two men quarreling about?" she demanded reprovingly, "we could hear you clear over to the house."

"Well, I asked him over to supper," began Bunker in a rage, "and----"

"That's got nothing to do with it," broke in Denver hotly, "I'm making him a business proposition. But he's so danged bull-headed he'd rather kill some jumper than comply with the law as it stands. He's been holding down these claims with a lead-pencil and a six-shooter just about as long as he can and----"

"Oh, have you made another strike?" asked Drusilla eagerly and when she heard the news she turned to her father with a sudden note of gladness in her voice. "Then you'll have to do the work," she said, "because I'll never be happy till you do. Ever since you sold your claim I've been sorry for my selfishness but now I'm going to pay you back. I'm going to take my five hundred dollars and hire this a.s.sessment work done and then----"

"It won't cost any five hundred," put in Denver hastily. "I'm kinder short, right now, and I offered to do it for ten dollars a claim, in trade."

"Ten dollars? Why, how can you do it for that? I thought the law required a ten foot hole, or the same amount of work in a tunnel."

"Or an open cut," hinted Denver. "Leave it to me--I can do it and make money, to boot."

"Well, you're hired, then!" cried Drusilla with a rush of enthusiasm, "but you have to go to work to-morrow."

"Well--ll," qualified Denver, "I wanted to look over my strike and finish sacking that ore. Wouldn't the next day do just as well?"

"No, it wouldn't," she replied. "You can give me an answer, right now."

"Well, I'll go you!" said Denver and Old Bunker grunted and regarded them with a wry, knowing smile.

CHAPTER XV

A NIGHT FOR LOVE

There was music that evening in the Bunker Hill mansion but Denver Russell sat sulking in his cave with no company but an inquisitive pack-rat. He regretted now his curt refusal to join the Hills at supper, for Drusilla was singing gloriously; but a man without pride is a despicable creature and Old Bunk had tried to insult him. So he went to bed and early in the morning, while the shadow of Apache Leap still lay like a blanket across the plain, he set out to fulfill his contract.

Across one shoulder he hung a huge canteen of water, on the other a sack of powder and fuse; and, to top off his burden, he carried a long steel churn-drill and a spoon for scooping out the muck.

The discovery hole of Bunker's Number Two claim was just up the creek from his own and, after looking it over, Denver climbed up the bank and measured off six feet from the edge. Then, raising the steel bar, he struck it into the ground, churning it rhythmically up and down; and as the hole rapidly deepened he spooned it out and poured in a little more water. It was the same uninteresting work that he had seen men do when they were digging a railroad cut; and the object was the same, to shoot down the dirt with the minimum of labor and powder. But with Denver it became a work of art, a test of his muscle and skill, and at each downward thrust he bent from the hips and struck with a deep-chested "Huh!"

An hour pa.s.sed by, and half the length of the drill was buried at the end of the stroke; and then, as he paused to wipe the sweat from his eyes, Denver saw that his activities were being noted. Drusilla was looking on from the trail below, and apparently with the greatest interest. She was dressed in a corduroy suit, with a broad sombrero against the sun; and as she came up the slope she leapt from rock to rock in a heavy pair of boys' high boots. There was nothing of the singer about her now, nor of the filmy-clad barefooted dancer; the jagged edge of old Pinal would permit of nothing so effeminate. Yet, over the rocks as on the smooth trails, she had a grace that was all her own, for those hillsides had been her home.

"Well, how's the millionaire?" she inquired with a smile that made his fond heart miss a beat. "Is _this_ the way you do it? Are you just going to drill one hole?"

"That's the dope," replied Denver, "sink it down ten feet and blow the whole bank off with one shot. It's as easy as shooting fish."

"Why, you're down half-way, already!" she cried in amazement. "How long before you'll be done?"

"Oh, half an hour or so," said Denver. "Want to wait and see the blast?

I learned this system on the railroad."

"You'll be through, then, before noon!" she exclaimed. "You're actually making money."

"Well, a little," admitted Denver, "but, of course, if you're not satisfied----"

"Oh, I'm satisfied," she protested, "I was only thinking--but then, it's always that way. There are some people, of course, who can make money anywhere. How does it feel to be a millionaire?"

"Fine!" grinned Denver, chugging away with his drill, "this is the way they all got their start. The Armstrong method--and that's where I s.h.i.+ne; I can break more ground than any two men."

"Well, I believe you can," she responded frankly, "and I hope you have a great success. I didn't like it very well when you called me a quitter, but I can see now what you meant. Did you ever study music at all?"

Denver stopped his steady churning to glance at her quickly and then he nodded his head.

"I played the violin, before I went to mining. Had to quit then--it stiffens up your fingers."

"What a pity!" she cried. "But that explains about your records--I knew you'd heard good music somewhere."

"Yes, and I'm going to hear more," he answered impressively, "I'm not going to blow my money. I'm going back to New York, where all those singers live. The other boys can have the booze."

"Don't you drink at all?" she questioned eagerly. "Don't you even smoke?

Well, I'm going right back and tell father. He told me that all miners spent their money in drinking--why wouldn't you come over to supper?"

She shot the question at him in the quick way she had, but Denver did not answer it directly.

"Never mind," he said, "but I will tell you one thing--I'm not a hobo miner."

"No, I knew you weren't," she responded quickly. "Won't you come over to supper to-night? I might sing for you," she suggested demurely; but Denver shook his head.