Denver leapt up on the platform and cut open a sack, but as he was pouring a generous sample of the ore into his handkerchief a man stepped out of the next warehouse.
“Hey!” he called, “what are you doing, over there? You get down and leave that ore alone!”
“Go to hell!” returned Denver, tying a knot in his handkerchief, and the man came over on the run.
“Say!” he threatened, “you put that ore back or you’ll find yourself in serious trouble.”
“Oh, I will, hey?” replied Denver with his most tantalizing smile. “Whose ore do you think this is, anyway?”
“It belongs to Mr. Murray, and you’d better put it back or I’ll report the matter at once.”
151“Well, report it,” answered Denver. “My name is Denver Russell and I’m taking this up to the assayer.”
“There’s Mr. Murray, now,” exclaimed the man and as Denver looked up he saw a yellow automobile churning rapidly along through the dust. Murray himself was at the wheel and, sitting beside him, was another man equally familiar–it was Dave, his hired gun-man.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Russell?” demanded Murray with asperity and Denver became suddenly calm. Old Murray had been hiding from him, but they had summoned him by telephone, and he had brought along Dave for protection. But that should not keep him from having his way and forcing Murray to a show-down.
“I just came down for a sample of that ore I sent you,” answered Denver with a sarcastic grin. “McGraw said you claimed it was no good, so I thought I’d have it assayed.”