"He pans forty dollars to the boot-leg," one shouted.

"How much do you run to the foot, Slapjack?"

"He's a reg'lar free-milling ledge."

"No, he ain't--he's too thin. He's nothing but a stringer, but
he'll pay to work."

The old miner grinned toothlessly.

"Gentlemen, there ain't no better way to save fine gold than with
undercurrents an' blanket riffles. I'll have to wash these
garments of mine an' clean up the soapsuds 'cause there's a
hundred dollars in gold-dust clingin' to my person this minute."
He went dripping up the bank, while the men returned to their work
singing.

After lunch Dextry saddled his bronco.

"I'm goin' to town for a pair of gold-scales, but I'll be back by
supper, then we'll clean up between shifts. She'd ought to give us
a thousand ounces, the way that ground prospects." He loped down
the gulch, while his partner returned to the pit, the flashing
shovel blades, and the rumbling undertone of the big workings that
so fascinated him. It was perhaps four o'clock when he was aroused
from his labors by a shout from the bunk-tent, where a group of
horsemen had clustered. As Glenister drew near, he saw among them
Wilton Struve, the lawyer, and the big, well-dressed tenderfoot of