Upon that point, at least, Denver suffered no delusion; he knew that his downfall had been planned from the first and that he had bit like a sucker at the bait. Murray had dropped a few words and spit on the hook and Denver had shipped him his ore. The rest, of course, was like shooting fish in the Pan-handle–he had refused to buy the ore, leaving Denver belly-up, to float away with other human débris. But there was one thing yet that he could not understand–why had Murray closed down his own mine? That was pulling it pretty strong, just to freeze out a little prospector and rob him of a ton or two of ore; and yet Denver had proof that it was true. He had staked a hobo who had come over the trail and the hobo had told him what he knew. The diamond drill camp was closed down and all the men had left, but the guard was still herding the property. And the hobo had seen a girl at Pinal. She was easy to look at but hard to talk to, so he had passed and hit the trail for Globe.
Denver worked like a demon with a gang of 156Cousin Jacks, opposing the swelling ground with lengths of railroad steel and pouring in the concrete behind them; but all the time, by fits and snatches, the old memories would press in upon him. He would think of Mother Trigedgo and her glowing prophecies, which had turned out so wonderfully up to a certain point and then had as suddenly gone wrong; and then he would think of the beautiful artist with whom he was fated to fall in love, and how, even there, his destiny had worked against him and led him to sacrifice her love. For how could one hope to win the love of a woman if he denied her his friendship first? And yet, if he accepted her as his dearest friend, he would simply be inviting disaster.
It was all wrong, all foolish–he dismissed it from his mind as unworthy of a thinking man–yet the words of the prophecy popped up in his head like the memories of some evil dream. His hopes of sudden riches were blasted forever, he had given up the thought of Drusilla; but the one sinister line recurred to him constantly–“at the hands of your dearest friend.” Never before in his life had he been without a pardner, to share his ramblings and adventures, but now in that black hole with the steel rails coming down and death on every hand, superstition overmastered him and he rebuffed the hardy Cornishmen, refusing to take any man for his friend. Nor would he return to Mother Trigedgo’s boarding house, for her prophecies had ruined his life.
157He worked on for a week, trying to set his mind at rest, and then a prompting came over him suddenly to go back and see Drusilla. If death must come, if some friend must kill him, in whose hands would he rather entrust his life than in those of the woman he loved? Perhaps it was all false, like the rest of the prophecy, the gold and silver treasures and the rest; and if he was brave he might win her at last and have her for more than a friend. But how could he face her, after all he had said, after boasting as he had of his fortune? And he had refused her friendship, when she had endeavored to comfort him and to exorcise this fear-devil that pursued him. He went back to work, determined to forget it all, but that evening he drew his time. It came to ninety dollars, for seven shifts and over-time, and they offered him double to stay; but the desire to see Drusilla had taken possession of him and he turned his face towards Pinal.
It was early in the morning when he rode out of Globe and took the trail over the divide; and as he spurred up a hill he overtook another horseman who looked back and grinned at him wisely.
“Going to the strike?” he asked and Denver’s heart leapt, though he kept his quirt and spurs working.
“What strike?” he said and the man burst into a laugh as if sensing a hidden jest.
“That’s all right,” he answered, “I guess you’re hep–they say it runs forty per cent copper.”
“How’d you hear about it?” inquired Denver, 158 fishing cautiously for information. “Where you going–over to Pinal?”
“You’re whistling,” returned the man, quite off his guard. “Say, stake me a claim when you get there, if old Bible-Back hasn’t jumped them all.”