“I’ll just mix that ore up,” said Denver cautiously, “and cut it down, the way they do at the mill. Throw out every tenth shovel and mix ’em up again and then cut the pile down smaller until you’ve got a control, like the ore brokers take at the smelter. And then I’ll send a sample to the assayer–say, there’s Drusilla over there, trying to call you.”
“She’s trying to call you,” answered Bunker Hill shortly and went on into the store.
“Well, be sure and order that powder,” shouted Denver after him. “And say, I’ll want the rest of those ore-sacks.”
“All right,” replied Bunker and Denver turned to the house where Drusilla was waiting on the porch.
“Did you hear the news?” she asked dancing 203ecstatically to and fro; as if she were a Delilah, leading the Philistine maidens in the “Spring Song,” and he were another Samson. “I’m expecting to go East now, soon.”
“Good!” exclaimed Denver. “Well, I won’t see you much then–I’m going to work in the mine.”
“Yes, isn’t it grand?” she cried. “Everything is coming out fine–but you must come down to dinner to-night. I’m going to sing, just for you.”
“I’ll be there,” smiled Denver, and then he stopped. “But let’s not make it to-night,” he said, “I’m dead on my feet for sleep.”
“Well, sleep then,” she laughed, “and get rested from your contest–I’m awfully glad you won. And then─”
“Nope, can’t come to-night,” he answered soberly, “I want to get that ore sacked to-day. And I’m stiff as a strip of burnt raw-hide.”