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LD TOM sat on the bunk and watched the other divide their outfit.

"Bill," he quavered, moistening his dry lips; then again: "Bill!"

Bill did not turn his head, but went on with his packing. He lashed on a roll of blankets, a pick and some drills, and headed the pack-burros down the trail. Then straightening his broad young shoulders, he faced the old man.

"Now, then," he said, "now we're splittin' fer good, I'm goin' to put it to yu straight. Yu claim yu found that float here in this gulch. Mebbe yu did; an' agin, mebbe yu didn't. I'm just a-tellin' yu that yer no prospector. Yer a pure bungler. You've botched things from the start. Us two is quits fer keeps."

Bill turned down the trail, and the old man stumbled to a log where he sat till man and burro were swallowed up by the pines. He worked hard on the gulch that day, but he could not rid himself of that parting thrust. To be called a bunglerand by Bill- He bulked predominant in the eyes of the old man, did Bill, young, strapping Bill.

A week passed. The old fellow's interest in his prospecting fagged. He could not keep his mind to the gulch, and often he straightened up from his pick and stood looking off down the trail.

"Yes," he would mutter, "yes, he called me a bungler, Bill did."

Then came a day when he did not turn up the gulch as was his wont. He shouldered his pick and wandered up up Elk Creek, his steps aimless, no purpose in view other than ridding himself of the old camping spot. On his way back that afternoon he paused at the mouth of a wildlooking, stony gulch. He sat down on a boulder, strangely absorbed in the rough. profile of the cliffs above. The next day he was back again. As he picked his way

up the rough bed of the gulch, he talked brokenly to himself.

"No, this ain't the gulch-course it ain't-not this one. I know where I found that float-found it just where I told Bill I did. I ain't no bungler."

And that night, when he turned back toward camp, he held out with the same words, "No, this here ain't the gulch."

Yet the following morning found him. again there with his pick. A strange fascination drew him back from day to day, to assure himself again at sundown that this was not the gulch.

And then one day he stumbled onto the lead a foot of gold-bearing quartz jutting from the side of the gulch. Flashed through his mind the fabulous assay from the bit of float he had picked up the summer before, and the old man trembled a bit as he drove his pick into the ledge.

The sun was slipping behind the ridge and its level bars set up a soft glow on the yellow metal in his hand. He held it close up to his eyes, shading it with his hand. He moistened it with his tongue and thrust it out at arm's length. Still the yellow glow. There could be no doubt. With a great surge his harbored feelings burst forth.

"Eh?" he clamored, shaking the specimen in the face of the setting sun. "Bungler, eh? Bungler, d' yu say? Yes, Bill," he apostrophized, "yu was shore righta pure bungler. Ol' Tom, the bungler. Bungled hisself into a cool million, by at bunglesome stroke of the pick!"

He wrote out a location stake and placed it above his discovery. Then he sat down and straightway forgot the ledge. Dusk was coming on when he rose stiffly to his feet and looked at the blotch white quartz at his side. A heavy indifference had settled over him, and there was a troubled look on his face.

of

"Guess it's cause I'm gettin' old," he

speculated. "Now, if I'd stumbled onto a lay like that when I was a young buck and full o' ginger like BillBill”

He stood for a moment gnawing reflectively at his withered wisp of a beard. "Blamed if I don't do it!" he announced loudly to the solitude about him; then pulled the location stake from its mound. of stones and tossed it from him.

Nearly a week passed, and the two came back up the trail together. They unpacked their burros, Bill kindled a fire, and they ate their supper together as they had done a hundred times before under the big balsam. Then twilight, their evening pipes around the camp-fire; the ember-glow came on; a grey film over the ashes, and they turned in for the night.

"No, Bill," the old man remonstrated the next morning, "yu go on alone. I'll stay behind an' move camp. As I was just tellin' yu, it's the second gulch to yer right up Elk Creek. About a hundred yards above the burnt stump is where I found my float last summer. An' I'm dead sure I ain't a-bunglin' this time, neither, Bill."

The old man watched him till he had passed from sight over the ridge.

"Doggies!" he ejaculated happily. "Wouldn't I like to see his eyes bug outen his head when he stumbles onto the lay?"

With a zest he had not shown in many days, the old fellow went on with his task of breaking camp. He topped the pack with the tent, lashed it on, and headed the burros over the ridge.

Where the trail turns and buckles back toward the creek, he heard the swish of brush above him. It was Bill. He turned down the steep slope, an avalanche of loose wash clattering at his heels. His face was flushed, his hat gone, but in his hand he still carried that which sent the nerves of the old prospector tingling.

It was a large moment, but the old fellow held himself nobly aloof from the swirl that had caught up Bill.

"Well, Bill," he drawled, with a fine show of nonchalance, "I ain't such a worse bungler, after all, am I?"

Bill brushed him aside and reached for the axe which dangled from one of the packs.

"Get a prod on yu with them jacks!" he said. "If we hustle, mebbe we can get

our stakes on the extension this truck comes from." He flaunted the specimen under the old man's nose, and the latter drew up with a jerk.

"Get our stakes-on what?" he rapped out, his voice gone tense.

"The extension!" Bill flung at him as he turned up the trail with the axe. "Jack Herman from over Piney way has got his stakes on the lay this comes from.'

That night, as the two ate supper in the new camp, Bill paused reflectively between bites.

"Say!" he proffered with sudden enlightenment, "I ain't kickin' on that extension we got our stakes on, but I was just a-thinkin'-now if you'd just gone on up and looked around a little, when yu found the right gulch, 'stead of hikin' off down the trail after me

Before the stars had dimmed in the sky the next morning, the two rolled out of their bunk. Bill threw together a hasty meal, and they gulped it down and sat waiting for the pale film of the morning twilight. All that day and the next they scoured every foot of the claim they had staked, probing the loose wash with their picks, their eyes keen, straining for a glimpse of white quartz. They came upon no lead, no float, nothing but the gray waste of slide-rock which hemmed them round. The third day their spirits palled. Tiring of the tame pursuit, they dropped the gulch to where Jack was at work.

The old man's eyes fell on a heap of rich specimens sorted to one side. He picked up one of them, and the muscles along his jaw grew suddenly taut. His strained breath whistling between his teeth turned. Bill about with a start. He saw the bit of rich metal in the other's hand, and the line of fire flashing across his eyes.

"Gosh, Tom!" he probed unconsciously, "if yu an' me could only stumble onto some dope like that!"

"Yes, if we only could!"

The glamour, the golden mist thrown about Jack and his operations drew Bill back to the spot from day to day. But the old man came no more. He took to long rambles up the creek, aimless excursions which took him everywhere, nowhere. A

gnawing fever was at work in his face, and when night came on he sat withdrawn in the shadows beyond the camp-fire, a heavy glumness upon him.

At their breakfast one morning the two saw Jack drive his pack-burros up the side of the gulch toward his claim. With an abrupt show of interest, the old man set down his coffee and came to his feet. He stood for a moment with his eyes on the burros, then turned on Bill.

"Bill," he choked hoarsely, "blamed if this hain't gone fur enough! He don't get outen this gulch with that ore. Not on yer life! It's not his'n!"

"Not his'n?" said Bill. "What drivin' at ?"

yu

The words withered on his lips. He dropped his pack-ropes and reached for a drill. Bill, struggling for his wind, came up just then and laid a hand on the old man's shoulders. He shook himself loose, but Bill grabbed him again, now by the collar. Twisting and sawing, gasping under the tightening hold, he turned on Bill with scathing fury.

"Leggo! Yu blamed rat!" he snarled. "Leggo! or I'll brain yu."

The furious spurt of the old man's energy was soon spent. His heated cries wavered, lapsed into a gurgling mumble. His breath faltered, sobbed in and out in fitful gasps, and he crumpled to the ground, Bill astride of his chest.

"It's not his'n!" he insisted, with rattling intonation. "Not his'n! It's not his'n!"

Then he lay back quite motionless, and a heavy film came between him and Bill.

But the weight was still on his chest, and he thought he could hear Bill's voice, hollow and deadened, coming to him from far off.

"Guess he must 've gone dippy, Jack. You hustle with yer packin' and pull yer freight. I'll hang on to him till yer gone."

The old man sat up and stared at the dust on his shirt, the rent in his trousers. He shook a bit of rock from his ear and reached for his hat. Then his eye fell on Bill lounging to one side. "Gone, has he, Bill ?" "Well, yes."

He caught the anxious look in Bill's eyes, and set him at rest. "Oh, yu needn't worry, Bill; I ain't goin' to make no more breaks. My dippy spell is over now."

A few mornings later the two parted. This time it was the old man who turned down the mountain-side.

"No, Bill," he said, "I'm done with the trail. I'm gettin' too old fer the game. Good luck to yu, Bill!"

A little way down the trail he hesitated a moment, then came back to the tent.

"I-I just wanted to tell yu, Bill," he explained through the flush of his confusion, "that you was right when yu claimed I'd bungled things from the start. I-I'm a bungler, just a natural bungler, like yu said I was, Bill."

Then he was gone.

Bill hung on at the gulch for a month, prospecting every foot of its stony bed, the hills and the cliffs above. He came upon no lead, no pocket. But one day he found a bleached slab of pine protruding from a clump of brush just below Jack's abandoned hole. It was a location stake. The penciled lines had faded, but he laboriously spelled out the words at the head of the stake: "The Billy Boy Lode."

And, at the bottom of the stake, in a scrawl that was familiar, he made out his own name, his and that of the old man.

IF

"And if I had some business ability, I could pay some of my debts, which are creeping up higher and higher each year,' carelessly returned Farnum. "What's the use of fancy education, if you don't know how to put it to a practical use.

Here

I stand, with an extravagant education, an acknowledged assay expert by scientists, with soft hands, delicate tastes, a repulse for work, a love of luxury, and turned upon the world by a once indulgent parent with the words: 'I have given you an education and a profession; now go shift for yourself. I had to do it at a younger age and with scarcely the rudiments of an education.' It is unjust!" he ended with emphasis and a hard expression, as he kicked a piece of rock. Almost unconsciously his experienced eye recognized great riches for the uncovered mine.

"And here I stand," complained his companion, "the only heir to land and millions and commanded to develop this mine, when I have not the remotest idea how to begin, and never saw a piece of rough ore in all my days. It's the best way to make a man of you,' said father."

The two men sauntered off with hard thoughts of their parents and fate. They were unaware of a dejected figure that stood nearby-a figure that just before. their appearance had sighed, "If I only had the opportunity I could make good. Other men are given a chance, but nothing comes to me. With every incentivea trusting sweetheart, energy for a whole generation, and faith in success-I must see others throw away opportunities that I cannot have."

The despondent creature was Ernest Warren, who had somehow been the dupe of so many seemingly prosperous enterprizes. He knew more about mining and its machinery than any other man in Nevada, but he was forever coming out of the small end of the horn. Either the speculation proved worthless or the operators cheated him out of his pay, leaving him to begin again with nothing. With all his discouragements, Warren still held a tight hold on his energy and hope. "Every man has his chance to rise," he would say in his despondent moments, "and mine will come, too; but when ?"

Unwillingly, Warren had overheard the conversation of the two men, and now a new hope seized him. "If only— "But

no, it could not be. He looked at the spotless, exquisite apparel of the sons of culture and wealth, and then at his own khaki suit besmeared with mud and grease. They would not even countenance him, he felt assured, yet something made. him follow the men to another pile of rock. On the road below stood their large touring car, and at the base of the mountain lay a mining camp, whose animation made it appear like some miniature puppet show at that distance.

Warren had come very close to the men when Randolph asked his companion: "Do you think it is worth it?"

"Most certainly," was the reply. "It is rich. I should say. Of course there is always a risk, but I would make a firm prediction that you would not be a loser."

"If I only knew some one who would do right by me, I would pay him well," complained Randolph. "This camp below here is a pack of thieves and robbers."

"If," began his friend, but before he could finish, Ernest Warren had, with some embarrassment, offered his services.

To Randolph it seemed like an answer to his wish, but a glance at the shabby

clothing caused a repulsive feeling in both men, and they laughed cynically at the miserable creature.

"That sounds very pretty," sneered Farnum, "but how are we to know of your abilities ?"

"You have heard of The Silver Thread, The Golden Curl and The Maiden mines, haven't you?" he began with excitement. "Oh, yes," assented Randolph.

"Well," he went on, "I was the engineer for them all, and I would like to show you how rich the inside of this mountain is. There is a legend, gentlemen, the Indians tell that this particular mountain was the treasury of some ancient tribe, and the Great Spirit threw these rocks upon it because the tribe got too avaricious."

Noting Warren's earnest tone, Farnum said, "You seem to believe the Indian tale."

"I do," returned the engineer. "There is more truth than guess in the Indian legends of the rich and worthless mines, only the scientific man won't believe it beforehand."

"If you engineered the mines you mentioned," said Randolph, "you should not be looking for a job now."

"Doing your own work right does not make the rest of the world honest," he answered bitterly.

"Well, give me your name and address and you will hear from me in a few days," concluded the millionaire, and the two men turned towards the auto.

"Same old story of the worthless," muttered Farnum.

"But I like his face," insisted Randolph -"and I believe he is the man I want."

"That's a failing of yours, Randolph, to like people's faces," laughed his companion. "We had best see what the mining companies say of him."

Ernest Warren felt hopeful as he viewed the backs of the two men. At last his chance had come. Dorothy would be his and they would have a pretty little home of their own. The future was painted in roseate colors.

A week later a letter came from Randolph, stating that upon inquiry none of the mining companies Warren had mentioned were acquainted with him, and that the owner would have to seek elsewhere for an engineer.

"Liars!" muttered Warren. "Not content with cheating me out of my pay, they are now blackmailing me and boycotting me. Well, they shall not succeed. I'll outwit them somehow. If only-" He stopped suddenly, remembering that he was helpless and penniless.

Contrary to the usual course of events when a man's honor and profession are assailed, Warren experienced no despair. Instead, a fighting spirit was aroused within him, prompted by hope and success. After a thoughtful hour upon the very spot where he had spoken to the two men, the engineer made his decision. He boldly proposed that he borrow $10,000 from the millionaire, and he would open up the mine for him, provided that the owner would purchase all necessary implements and machinery. "I feel so certain of the truth of the Indian legend that I want to prove it to you," he wrote in conclusion. "I have no security to offer for the loan but myself. Therefore, if I fail my life is yours; if I succeed, my services have paid the debt."

"That sounds like grit!" declared Randolph, after reading the letter. Something of the gambling spirit asserted itself and made the millionaire enjoy taking the risk. A duly prepared contract was forwarded to Ernest Warren, before the owner of the mine consulted Farnum. When later he informed his friend what he had done, the assayer called him a fool.

"Perhaps I am," slowly assented Randolph, "but there is that Indian tale, and I believe the man will make good."

His companion looked up disgustedly from his cigar and said nothing. "And you are going to help me out, Farnum," went on the millionaire.

"Not I!" announced his friend with emphasis.

"Oh, but you must. Why, I have told Warren to send the ore specimens to you for examination."

Randolph hesitated just a moment to note the astonished expression on the face of the man before him. Then he proceeded hurriedly to prevent interruption. "I will fix up a laboratory for you and give you a decent salary, and

"I work for a salary!" broke in Farnum. "Why, that's ridiculous! I might