"Then they must be running a lateral, hoping to cut across our vein
somewhere within their lines."

"And will that give them the right, _señor_?"

Westcott sat, his head resting on one hand, staring thoughtfully into
the dying fire; the yellow flame of the oil lamp between them on the
table flickered in the draft from the open window. Here was a
threatening combination of forces.

"I am not sure, Jose," he answered slowly. "The mining law is full of
quirks, although, of course, the first discoverer of a lead is entitled
to follow it--it's his. The trouble here is, that instead of giving
notice of discovery, I have kept it a secret, and even blocked up the
tunnel. If the La Rosita gang push their drift in, and strike that
same vein, they will claim original discovery, and I reckon they'd make
it stick. I didn't suppose Lacy had the slightest idea we had struck
colour. Nobody knew it, but you and I, Jose."

"Never I say a word, _señor_."

"I am sure of that, for I know exactly where the news came from. Lacy
spilled the beans in a bit of misunderstanding we had last night down
in Haskell. My letters and telegrams East to Cavendish went wrong, and
the news has come back here to those fellows. They know just what
we've struck, and how our tunnel runs; I was fool enough to describe it
all to Cavendish and send him a map of the vein. Now they are driving
their tunnel to get in ahead of us."