“Oh,” observed Murray and for a minute he sat silent while Dave and Denver exchanged glances. The gun-man was slight and insignificant looking, with small features and high, boney cheeks; but there was a smouldering hate in his deep-set eyes which argued him in no mood for a jest, so Denver looked him over and said nothing.
“Very well,” said Murray at last, “the ore is yours. Go ahead and have it assayed. But with the price of silver down to forty-five cents I doubt if that stuff will pay smelter charges. I’ll ship it, 152if you say so, along with this other, if only to make up a carload; but it will be at your own risk and if the returns show a deficit, your mine will be liable for the balance.”
“Oh, that’s the racket, eh?” suggested Denver. “You’ve got your good eye on my mine. Well, I’d just like to tell you─”
“No, I haven’t,” snapped back Murray, his voice harsh and strident, “I wouldn’t accept your mine as a gift. Your silver is practically worthless and there’s no copper in the district; as I know all too well, to my sorrow. I’ve lost twenty thousand dollars on better ground than yours and ordered the whole camp closed down–that shows how much I want your mine.”
He started his engine and glided on to the warehouse and Denver stood staring down the road. Then he raised his sample, tied up in his handkerchief, and slammed it into the dirt. His mine was valueless unless he had money, and Murray had abandoned the district. More than ever Denver realized how much it had meant to him, merely to have that diamond drilling running and a big man like Murray behind it. It was indicative of big values and great expectations; but now, with Murray out of the running, the district was absolutely dead. There was no longer the chance of a big copper strike, such as had been rumored repeatedly for weeks, to bring on a stampede and make every claim in the district worth thousands of dollars as a gamble.
153No, Pinal was dead; the Silver Treasure was worthless; and he, Denver Russell, was broke. He had barely the price of a square meal. He started up-town, and turned back towards the warehouse where Murray was wrangling with his hireling; then, cursing with helpless rage, he swung off down the railroad track and left his broken dreams behind him.
154CHAPTER XVIII
THE HAND OF FATE
The swift hand of fate, which had hurled Denver from the heights into the depths of dark despair, suddenly snatched him up out of the abyss again and whisked him back to Globe. When he walked out of Moroni his mind was a blank, so overcome was his body with heat and toil and the astounding turns of his fortune; but at the next station below, as he was trying to steal a ride, a man had dropped off the train and dragged him, willy nilly, into his Pullman. It was a mining superintendent who had seen him in action when he was timbering the Last Chance stope, and in spite of his protests he paid his fare to Globe and put him to work down a shaft.
At the bottom of this shaft was millions of dollars worth of copper and level after level of expensive workings; and some great stirring of the earth was cutting it off, crushing the bottle off at the neck. Every night, every shift, the swelling ground moved in, breaking stulls and square-sets like tooth-picks; and now with solid steel and quick-setting concrete they were fighting for the life of the mine. It was a dangerous job, such as few 155men cared to tackle; but to Denver it was a relief, a return to his old life after the delirium of an ugly dream. Even yet he could not trace the flaw in his reasoning which had brought him to earth with such a thump; but he knew, in general, that his error was the common one of trying to run a mine on a shoestring. He had set up in business as a mining magnate on eight hundred dollars and his nerve, and Bible-Back Murray had busted him.