corners, and the seams were caulked with clay and moss. A big stove, now
empty, stood at one end, its pipe running obliquely across the room
before it pierced the iron roof, so as to radiate as much heat as
possible. Plans, drawing instruments, and some books on mining, occupied
a shelf on the wall; guns, fishing rods, and surveying tools a corner,
and a plain, uncovered table the middle of the room. Besides this, there
were two or three cheap folding chairs.

The door and window were open, although the mosquitoes were numerous,
and the roar of the Shadow River and a smell of wood smoke came in. When
he looked out, Thirlwell could see the ragged tops of the stunted pines
cut against a pale-green glow. By and by Scott knocked out his pipe and
stretched his legs. There was another partner, but he only visited the
mine at intervals and had left it while Thirlwell was away.

"Brinsmead has gone to Nevada and probably won't come back," Scott
remarked. "He has a plausible manner, but seems to have done no better
in New York than you did in Montreal; it looks as if machinery agents
are very shy about giving credit to the owners of half-developed mines.
Anyhow, when he heard of a field for his talents in a Western town he
didn't hesitate. Now he tells me that he finds the prospect of earning
some money instead of spending it a refreshing change."

"It's lucky he didn't take his capital out of the Clermont," Thirlwell
replied.

Scott laughed. "He couldn't take it out. Nobody would buy his share, and
my fortune's represented by a shaft in danger of flooding and some cheap
and antiquated boring plant. In fact, if we don't strike pay-dirt soon,
the Clermont will go broke, and I imagine that's why Brinsmead skipped.