Silver and Gold. Coolidge Dane

half the mines in the west would be named after some knot-headed jackass. That’s how much intellect it takes to be a prospector.”

      “No, I’ll tell you what’s the matter with these prospectors,” returned Denver with a miner’s scorn, “they do everything in the world but dig. They’ll hike, and hunt burros and go out across the desert; but anything that calls for a few taps of work they’ll pass it right up, every time. And I’ll tell you, old-timer, all the mines on top of ground have been located long ago. That’s why you hear so much about ‘Swede luck’ these days–the Swede ain’t too lazy to sink.

      “That’s my motto–sink! Get down to bed-rock and see what there is on the bottom; but these danged prospectors just hang around the water-holes and play pedro until they eat up their grub-stakes.”

      “Heh, heh; that’s right,” responded Bunker reminiscently, “say, did you ever hear of old Abe Berg? He used to keep a store down below in Moroni; and there was one of these old prospectors that made a living that way, used to touch him up regular for a grub-stake. Old Abe was about as easy as Bible-Back Murray when you showed him a rich piece of ore and after this prospector had et up all his grub he’d drift back to town for more. But on the way in, like all of them fellers, he’d stop at some real good mine; and after he’d stole a few chunks of high-grade ore he’d take it along to show to Abe. But after a while Old Abe got suspicious–he didn’t fall for them big stories any more–and at last he began to enquire just where this bonanza was, that the prospector was reporting on so favorable. Well, the feller told him and Abe he scratched his head and enquired the name of the mine.

      “‘Why, I call it the Juniper,’ says the old prospector kind of innocent; and Abe he jumped right up in the air.

      “‘Vell, dat’s all right,’ he yells, tapping himself on the chest, ‘but here’s one Jew, I betcher, dat you von’t nip again!’ Get the point–he thought the old prospector was making a joke of it and calling his mine the Jew-Nipper!”

      “Yeah, I’m hep,” replied Russell, “say who is this feller that you call Bible-Back Murray–has he got any claims around here?”

      “Claims!” repeated Bunker, “well, I guess he has. He’s got a hundred if I’ve got one–this whole upper district is located.”

      “What–this whole country?” exclaimed Denver in sudden dismay, “the whole range of hills–all that lays in the shadow of the Leap?”

      “Jest about,” admitted Bunker, “but as I told you before, you can have any of mine for five hundred.”

      “Oh hell,” burst out Denver and then he roused up and a challenge crept into his voice. “Do you mean to tell me,” he said, “that he’s kept up his assessment work? Has he done a hundred dollars worth of work on every claim? No, you know danged well he hasn’t–you’ve just been doing lead-pencil work.”

      “That’s all right,” returned Bunker, “we’ve got a gentlemen’s agreement to respect each others monuments; and you’ll find our sworn statements that the work has been done on file with the County Recorder.”

      “Yes, and now I know,” grumbled Russell rebelliously, “why the whole danged district is dead. You and Murray and this old Dutchman have located all the ground and you’re none of you doing any work. But when a miner like me blows into the camp and wants to prospect around he’s stuck for five hundred dollars. How’m I going to buy my powder and a little grub and steel if I give up my roll at the start? No, I’ll look this country over and if I find what I want─”

      “You’ll pay for it, young man,” put in Bunker Hill pointedly, “that is, if it belongs to me.”

      “Well, I will if it’s worth it,” answered Russell grudgingly, “but you’ve got to show me your title.”

      “Sure I will,” agreed Bunker, “the best title a man can have–continuous and undisputed possession. I’ve been here fifteen years and I’ve never had a claim jumped yet.”

      “Who’s this Bible-Back Murray?” demanded Denver, “has he got a clean title to his ground?”

      “You bet he has,” replied Bunker Hill, “and he’s got my name as a witness that his yearly assessment work’s been done.”

      “And you, I suppose,” suggested Denver sarcastically, “have got his name, as an affidavit man, to prove that your work has been done. And when I look around I’ll bet there ain’t a hole anywhere that’s been sunk in the last two years.”

      “Yes there is!” contradicted Bunker, “you go right up that wash that comes down from them north hills and you’ll find one that’s down twelve hundred feet. And there’s a diamond drill outfit sinking twenty feet a day, and has been for the last six months. At five dollars a foot–that’s the contract price–Old Bible-Back is paying a hundred dollars a day. Now–how many days will that drill have to run to do the annual work? No, you’re all right, young man, and I like your nerve, but you don’t want to take too much for granted.”

      “Judas priest!” exclaimed Russell, “twelve hundred feet deep? What does the old boy think he’s got?”

      “He’s drilling for copper,” nodded Bunker significantly, “and for all you and I know, he’s got it. He’s got an armed guard in charge of that drill, and no outsider has been allowed anywhere near it for going on to six months. The cores are all stored away in boxes where nobodv can get their hands on them and the way old Bible-Back is sweating blood I reckon they’re close to the ore. But a hundred dollars a day–say, the way things are now that’ll make or break old Murray. He’s been blowing in money for ten or twelve years trying to develop his silver properties; but now he’s crazy as a bed-bug over copper–can’t talk about anything else.”

      “Is that so?” murmured Denver and as he went about his work his brain began to seethe and whirl. Here was something he had not known of, an element of chance which might ruin all his plans; for if the diamond drill broke into rich copper ore his chance at the two treasures would be lost. There would be a big rush and the price of claims would soar to thousands of dollars. The country looked well for copper, with its heavy cap of dacite and the manganese filling in the veins; and it was only a day’s journey in each direction from the big copper camps of Ray and Globe. He turned impulsively and reached for his purse, but as he was about to plank down his five hundred dollars in advance he remembered Mother Trigedgo’s words.

      “Choose well between the two and both shall be yours. But if you choose unwisely, then both will be lost and you will suffer humiliation and shame.”

      “Say,” blurted out Denver, “your claims are all silver–haven’t you got a gold prospect anywhere?”

      “No, I haven’t,” answered Old Bunk, his eye on the bank-roll, “but I’ll accept a deposit on that offer. Any claim I’ve got–except the Lost Burro itself–for five hundred dollars, cash.”

      “How long is that good for?” enquired Russell cautiously and Bunker slapped his leg for action.

      “It’s good for right now,” he said, “and not a minute after!”

      “But I’ve got to look around,” pleaded Denver desperately, “I’ve got to find both these treasures–one of silver and one of gold–and make my choice between them.”

      “Well, that’s your business,” said Bunker rising up abruptly. “Will you take that offer or not?”

      “No,” replied Denver, putting up his purse and Old Bunk glanced at him shrewdly.

      “Well, I’ll give you a week on it,” he said, smiling grimly, and stood up to look down the trail. Denver looked out after him and there, puffing up the slope, came Professor Diffenderfer, the eminent buttinsky and geologist.

      CHAPTER VII

       THE EMINENT BUTTINSKY